Stan's Little Problem
by I'mNotShortI'mFunsize
Summary: Everyone thinks it was just a phase. Everything was supposed to be back to normal at the end of the week. That's how it always was. So... why was this time different? Stan is struggling with an addiction he's been facing for years, and no one has been able to help. It might already be too late for someone to save him... (Ch. 10 up with new contest information. Give it a look!)
1. Kim Kardashian vs Miley Cyrus

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

"And that, children, is why Kim Kardashian is going to kick Miley Cyrus' ass in the celebrity smack down tonight. Now, can anyone tell me the significance of Kanye's…"

Stan sighed and listened as Mr. Garrison droned on and on about shit nobody cared about. Honestly, did other kids have to deal with learning about irrelevant trash year after year? He was pretty sure that they didn't; it was only in his red-neck mountain town of South Park, Colorado that everyone was completely insane. Or at least stupid. Probably both.

"Psst!"

The black-haired boy glanced sidelong at Red, who was offering a small slip of paper to him. He just rolled his eyes and looked back at the teacher, who had somehow managed to stick with their class all the way to sixth grade. Over the years, the man had gone through about three more existential crises, including a few very, very weird months where he had worn a pink fox fur suit everywhere. Truth be told, Stan had stopped giving a shit about whatever Garrison's new "gender of the week" was ages ago.

"Stan, psst!" Red muttered again, shooting him a glare. "Take the note! It's for you."

He shot back a scowl of his own, and whispered harshly, "What is this, third grade? Fuck off, Red."

"Stan, quit bein' a fuckin' prick and take the God damn note already!" snapped Cartman, who was seated just behind the pair.

Mr. Garrison, who had seemingly just heard the whispered conversation, turned around and placed his hands on his hips. "Is there are problem here? Stanley, Eric, Red? I will not have you three disrupting my class."

"No Mr. Garrison," the three chorused, as they were expected. And as if that solved the matter, the teacher turned back to the board and continued with his topic.

Almost immediately, Cartman picked up where they left off, "Stan, I swear to God, if you keep being a whiny little bitch today, then I'm gonna kick ya in the nuts."

With a frustrated growl, Stan reached over and snatched the note from Red's desk, and angrily unfolded it to scan the contents.

 _Stan, we need to talk._

 _-Wendy_

The boy glanced behind Red to his on-again off-again—currently on—girlfriend. But Wendy wasn't looking at him, as her eyes were glued on Garrison as she wrote down notes in her binder. Of course, being the A student that she was, she could care less about the stupid shit Garrison spewed out of his mouth. As long as she aced her test, she was happy.

Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, Stan raised his hand. "Mr. Garrison," he said, staring ahead at the teacher as a churning sensation entered his gut.

Blinking, the teacher turned around to look at the raven-haired boy, surprised at being interrupted yet again. "Yes Stanley, what is it?"

"Can I go to the bathroom?" he asked, already halfway out of his seat.

Shrugging, Garrison said, "Of course, but make sure to come right back." And with that, he turned back to the chalkboard. "Now, who can tell me which celebrity would win in a fight if they were only allowed to…"

Stan didn't hear the rest of the statement, as he was already out the door. He could feel eyes on his back as it swung shut, but he didn't care. He never cared. Shouldering his backpack, Stan sped to the bathroom as quickly as he could, grateful that he didn't run into anyone in the hallway. Upon reaching the boy's room, he checked about and looked under the stalls. Empty.

Locking himself in the largest stall, Stan unzipped his backpack and pulled out a Bud Light he'd stolen from his father that morning. Randy never noticed, as long as Stan was careful about when he took them. Popping the cap off, Stan took a swig of the beer and grimaced. Even after two years of drinking the stuff, he still hated the taste.

Most people thought that he'd gone through a phase when he turned ten—that his Asperger's was just a bull-shit excuse to get some attention. Well, they were all fucking wrong. Truth was, Stan had been drinking constantly ever since that one fateful day when alcohol had been forcefully shoved down his throat. It was the only way he could manage his depression over how shitty everything was. And at the rate he drank, he'd be surprised if his blood hadn't turned to wine.

"Maybe that's how Jesus did it," he muttered dryly, taking another sip of his drink. "He saw how fucking shitty the world is, and decided to keep drinking until it wasn't so shitty anymore."

Of course, no one else knew about his habits. Not his parents, not his sister, hell, not even Kyle knew. Sometimes, Stan thought that Kenny might suspect. The boy had gotten very quiet over the years, but that didn't mean Kenny was stupid—quite the opposite in fact. When Kenny wasn't speaking, he was watching and listening. And Stan guessed that he saw right through pretty much everything. But, if Kenny did know—or suspect—he never tried to confront Stan about it.

Finishing off the last of his beer, Stan sighed and leaned against the inside of the stall. He did not want to go back into that fucking classroom. The raven-haired boy didn't really see the point of even coming to school, when they didn't learn anything relevant. The only thing that kept him going was getting to see the three people he actually cared about—and no, Cartman was not one of them. Kenny, Wendy, and Kyle. That was it. Those were the only people in his life that he could tolerate these days. Well… and his mom. But that was a given, really.

With an exasperated huff, he shoved the empty bottle back into his bag and began to head back to class. He'd dispose of it on the way home.

Plopping back into his seat, he cautioned a glance back at his girlfriend. She had watched him sit down, and now gave him a reserved smile, before turning back to the front. He liked her smiles. They weren't very common, since she usually preferred to frown whenever she got invested in a new cause—or a new fight with fat-ass.

At that thought, he leaned back to look at Cartman. The brown haired boy was in a heated discussion with Token. And from the smirk on Cartman's face and the glare on Token's, Stan guessed that the fat boy was making some racist comments. Again.

Something small struck the back of his head, and Stan blinked and turned around to see what had hit him. Another small, rolled up ball of paper hit his cheek before bouncing to the floor, and Stan raised his brows at Kyle.

The red-head hastily scribbled something down on a bit of paper, crumpled it up, and tossed it over to his best friend. Stan caught the ball, unfurled it, and silently read the words his friend had scrawled.

 _Are you feeling alright? You seemed sick earlier._

Stan furrowed his brows and returned his gaze to Kyle, who was giving him a concerned look. In his mind, he cast about frantically for a reply. After all, it wasn't as if he could tell his best friend that his buzz had been wearing off. Finally, he remembered the other note that he'd gotten that day in class, and quickly scrawled something on the back of the slip Kyle had tossed to him.

 _I think Wendy wants to break up. Again._

He shoved the note back to Kyle, who scanned it and then gave Stan a sympathetic look. After that, the two didn't really talk much throughout the rest of class. After all, what could they say? Stan knew that Kyle didn't see why he continued to go out with Wendy anymore. It was plain to everyone that the couple were never going to work out. They were just too different, and not in a good way. The two boys had argued about it on three separate occasions, neither ever willing to budge an inch on the matter.

The truth was, Stan was beginning to think that Kyle—and everyone else for that matter—was right. But every time Stan said that it was the last time he was ever going to date her, he always ended up falling into the same situation again. She would eventually come back to him, bat her eyes, and ask him out on a date. And he would always say yes. Why? Stability, perhaps? He knew she was a safe bet, as he knew where he stood with her. They would have fun for a few weeks, they'd break up, he'd become a depressed pussy for about a week, finally get over her, and then she'd ask him out again. It was a cycle that continually repeated itself. It was something he knew. And perhaps that was what attracted him, when so many other things in his life were uncertain. Especially since, to be quite honest, Stan didn't really harbor any romantic feelings for his first crush. At least, not anymore. There were no more fireworks when they kissed. It was just two people pressing their lips together. So why did he stay with her? Why did he choose to let himself be snared in this never-ending rut?

"Stan. Stanley. STANLEY!"

"Huh, what?" the raven-haired boy looked back toward the front as kids behind him snickered.

"Were you even paying attention?" Mr. Garrison drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.

And now was the point where he would lie, make up some story to appease Garrison, find out that was what the teacher _had_ been talking about, and get off scott free. That was what everyone—even Garrison—expected him to do. So it must have surprised them all, even himself a bit, when he said, "No."

"Oh really? Then what was I just talking abou-… what?" asked the man, completely startled.

Stan propped his chin on his hand and stared at the teacher with his cobalt blue eyes. "No, I was not paying attention."

"Well! Well… that's what I thought," said Garrison, a bit unsurely. "You just… you pay attention, Stanley, or I'll give you detention." He turned back to the board then, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

"If I tell you I won't, can I have detention now?" Stan countered. He wasn't sure why he was tempting the issue. Did he want to get in trouble? No. But he did need something to happen. He needed to get out of this damn rut.

"I… _excuse me_?" the teacher gasped, whirling about to stare at the black-haired boy. Stan could feel the eyes of everyone in the classroom on him. He knew they were all thinking that he must have gone mad.

Tucking a strand of dark hair stuck to his forehead back into his hat, he replied, "I really don't give a rat's ass about stupid celebrity bullshit." Well, now I can guarantee that I'll be seeing my parents in the principal's office, he thought. "Can't we learn about whatever normal kids learn about, like math or history or something? I bet Clyde still doesn't know what five times two is," he added, smirking wickedly.

At that, Clyde scowled at Stan, "Hey don't drag me into this! And it's seven, for your information." That caused everyone to burst out laughing, and Stan to cross his arms over his chest victoriously. Perhaps he wouldn't be so bold if it weren't for the alcohol clouding his judgement, but it was too late to take the words back now.

Mr. Garrison, whose face had turned a light pinkish shade at this point, yelled, "Alright Mr. Smart-ass, why don't you just walk on over to the Principal's office, and tell her what you did?!"

Stan gave him an annoyed look, but gathered his things. He paused at the exit though, and turned back to face the class. Well, I've already made a complete jackass of myself. In for a dime, in for a dollar, he thought. "Oh, Wendy?"

Wendy, who had been blushing shamefully at her boyfriend's outburst, struggled with herself for a moment before forcing herself to face him. "Yes, Stan?" she quipped, her voice steely as she stared at him.

"I think it might be best if we see other people." And with that, he stalked out of the classroom, leaving a chorus of "Oooohs" behind him.

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 **I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this story. I just know that it's been partially forming in my mind ever since the episode "You're Getting Old…" So please bear with me.**

 ***Edit: I wrote this first chapter years and years ago, before PC Principal was a thing. As such, consider pretty much everything after "Ass Burgers" to be non-canon in this story-line, unless I say otherwise.**


	2. Mommy Wants a Word

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

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For the last hour and a half, Stan had been staring up at his ceiling in silence. He had been very quiet since his outburst at Garrison. Really, everything had gone expected, after that. The Principal had called his mother, she had been furious at him for swearing in class, and now he was promptly grounded to his room for the night. His phone, his computer cord, and his gaming system had been taken away by his mother, so he could "think about what he'd done."

Stan was back in the rut.

Turning over, he stared at his dresser. At the bottom drawer, to be precise. Behind it would be a bottle of vodka, stolen promptly from Cartman's kitchen. Lianne Cartman had never noticed it was missing. Neither of his parents knew it was there. That drawer was pretty much off limits to them, since the time when he was eleven and his mother had discovered a few playboy magazines hidden there. Not that Stan had ever used them once. After all, why would he want to when he had the internet for… those situations. No, he had planted them there on purpose in the intent of his mother finding them. Because he knew what would happen when she did. He got "the talk" from his father, a bit of scolding from his mother, and a drawer that neither of his parents ever looked in. Which was exactly what he needed. A place to hide his alcohol without fear of being caught.

A quick glance at his door showed that it was locked. Heaving himself off of his bed, the boy went over to the drawer and pulled it open. Picking up the bottle, he frowned at it. There wasn't much left. He'd have to get a new one soon. Maybe Jack Daniels this time. Stan had been curious for a while now on how that stuff tasted. Not that he cared about the taste. It could be like drinking straight up piss for all he cared. As long as the brain numbing effects still worked.

Unscrewing the cap, he brought the neck to his lips and took a few swallows. There, that would take care of him for a while. Resealing the drink, he shoved it back in his drawer and shut it.

"Now what…" he muttered, looking about his room. Fortunately, he was saved from having to come up with a way to entertain himself when a knock sounded on his door.

"Stanley?" came the soft voice of his mother. "Can I come in?"

He froze for a moment, before running over to his desk. Popping open a case of mints he kept for just these types of occasions, Stan shoved some into his mouth to hide the stench of the alcohol, before running back to his door. Unlocking it quickly, he opened it a crack and asked, "What's up?"

Sharon's face took on a stern expression for a moment, and she said, "Stan, let me in so we can talk, please."

The boy hesitated for a moment, but eventually did as he was told. When his mother took a seat on his bed, Stan quickly followed suit. Staring down at his hands, he mumbled, "What did you want to talk about?"

She sighed and placed a hand on his back. "Stan, please be honest with me, why did you act up today in class? That isn't like you at all."

"I'm just sick of Mr. Garrison, mom. He's a terrible teacher. Today, do you know what we were learning about? Celebrity Smack down." Turning to stare at her with those wide blue eyes that were so much like his father's, he said, "I just wanna learn about normal things like other kids. Y'know, stuff that'll actually help me when I get to high school and college."

Frowning, Sharon replied, "I know, sweetie. But there just really isn't anything that can be done. After Miss Choksondik passed away, there really aren't very many people applying to be a teacher right now. So Mr. Garrison is all you've got." She then gave him a knowing look, "But there is something else bothering you too." When Stan opened his mouth to deny it, she added, "Don't lie to me Stanley. You're my son, and I know when something is wrong with you. Please just tell me the truth."

He grimaced and looked down at his hands. Stan loved his mother dearly, but sometimes she was just too clever. Unlike his father, who was an alcoholic idiot. After a very lengthy silence, he muttered, "I just feel as though I've been in a rut, mom. Everything is always the same. Every day is a repeat of the last, over and over and over. Nothing ever changes." Stan leaned back on his bed and shoved his arm over his eyes and he sighed. "And even when things _do_ change a little bit, they just go back to the way they were before."

And that was the root of his problems. Ever since he was ten—hell, more like since he was five—it had been the same story again and again. It was always the same, and in some ways, Stan was terrified that it would always _be_ the same.

Sharon was very quiet for a while. Finally, she whispered, "Is… is this about the separation your father and I had a couple years ago?" Her voice sounded pained, as though she hated to even think about, let alone bring up, that part of their lives.

Stan sighed. "No mom." Yes.

"Then what is it?" she asked, sounding truly concerned for him.

He sat up so he could look at her. Hearing her sound so caring and loving… it killed him to keep things from her. But he had to. "I'm just sick of feeling like I'm trapped. Football used to be a good way to distract me, but…" he trailed off. Last year during one of the football games, he'd had an asthma attack so bad that he'd had to be hospitalized for it. After that, no one would let him back on the team.

She gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry sweet heart, but you know why you can't play anymore."

Stan shrugged, "I know. And to be honest, I don't miss the sport that much. But I do miss the distraction." Especially since now his only real distraction from how shitty his life was, rested in the consumption of alcohol.

"Does Kyle know?"

The question completely caught him off guard, and he stared up at her in surprise.

Sharon smiled kindly, "I know you two tell each other pretty much everything, and he usually cheers you right up."

Shaking his head, he replied, "No, I haven't told Kyle. He wouldn't understand."

Now it was his mother's turn to be surprised. "Why not?"

And the dam that he'd been keeping locked away suddenly burst. "Because his life is perfect!" he blurted out. "He has a rich lawyer dad who loves him and spends time with him, a mom that would be willing to do anything for him. A sibling who actually _likes_ him. He's a straight A student, he is involved in all sorts of extra-curricular activities, and _everyone_ likes him. He's not a complete failure when it comes to dating girls. And _he's_ not the one who is struggling with his place in life, because he _likes_ how his life is turning out. He's going to get out of this shitty town and actually make something of himself, while I'll be stuck here till the day I die." At the end of it all, his face was flushed, and he was huffing madly. Anger coursed through his veins, and it was with trembling fingers that he reached into his coat pocket and took out his inhaler.

The woman waited calmly while he got his breathing under control, rubbing a hand against his back in a soothing matter.

Once he'd managed to breathe normally again, Stan spoke in a very, very quiet tone, "And… and I'm worried that if I tell him… he'll abandon me again, like he did two years ago." Stan blinked and looked away, trying to hide the fact that his eyes had suddenly gotten a bit glossy. "Mom, I don't wanna lose Kyle again. I care about him too much."

And there it was. The reason that he hardly ever confided in his best friend anymore. Stan did not want to feel that same horrible, hollow-stomached feeling that he'd had last time, when Kyle said they couldn't be friends anymore. Because he was terrified that if he did lose Kyle again… he wouldn't be able to keep going forward. And that rut that he was terrified of being stuck in would never come to pass, because he would end it.

No one knew that he felt this way. There were a lot of things that people didn't know about Stan. But he had long ago realized that he could not imagine any future without Kyle in his life.

He felt his mother's arms embrace him in a warm, comforting hug, and he returned the gesture. Sharon could see that her son was hurting, and hurting badly. When he finally pulled out of her grip, she smoothed her hand over his ebony locks, so very like his father's, and said, "Alright, I'm ungrounding you."

He blinked at her, "What?"

"You aren't grounded anymore," she repeated calmly. "But in lieu of your newfound freedom, I want you to go out and spend time with one of your friends. No sitting in your room all day surfing the internet."

Rather than argue, he smiled, stood up, and kissed her cheek. "Thanks mom." And before she could change her mind, Stan had pulled on his jacket and was out the door.

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 **Still there? I hope this wasn't a boring read. I thought it was good. I really like the dynamic of mother-son between Sharon and Stan, and I wish the show explored it more. But I can see why they don't, since it's supposed to be a show for comedy, and heart-to-hearts between mother and son aren't exactly funny.**


	3. A Chat at the Pond

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

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With his hands stuck in his jacket pockets, Stan kept his eyes on the ground as he walked down the familiar path toward his best friend's house. His breath came out in frosty puffs before his face. Fall was only at its mid-point on this September afternoon, but it was still chilly. Winter was fast approaching.

The sounds of muffled yelling caused the boy to shift his attention to his right, toward a house with reddish-brown brick and a thatched brown roof. Even through the thick walls, he could still hear the raised voice of Stephen Stotch, presumably as he yelled at his son. Stan shook his head and sighed. Sometimes, he felt bad for Butters. The kid just couldn't catch a break.

Eventually, the raven-haired boy arrived at the Broflovski residence. He quickly knocked on the door and sighed. Maybe this was a mistake… after all, he could always tell his mother than he'd hung out with Kyle. It wasn't like lying to her was something he didn't already do all the time anyways. However, the click of the doorknob being pulled back quickly put an end to that thought.

Surprisingly, it was not Kyle or Mrs. Broflovski who answered the door, but rather Kyle's younger brother, Ike. Stan blinked at the third grader (the little boy genius had skipped ahead another grade) and awkwardly stuck his hands back in his jacket pockets. He never really interacted with the Canadian boy much, other than a passing greeting or farewell.

"Uh… hey, Ike. Kyle home?" he asked unsurely.

Ike surveyed Stan for a moment, before replying, "Yea, he's upstairs." After another pause, he opened the door a bit wider and said, "Come on in, I guess."

Stan nodded and stepped into the large house. While not quite as big as Token's House, the Broflovski residence was still quite large compared to most of the other houses in South Park. Giving a small nod to Ike, Stan said, "Okay, well… see ya." But before he could even get to the first step of the stairwell, Ike's voice made him pause.

"How come you acted out in class?"

Frowning, Stan turned just enough to look at the other black-haired boy, "Did Kyle tell you that?"

Ike shook his head, "After school word spread quickly about your outburst. Everyone knows. So, why'd you do it?"

Stan groaned and rolled his head back so he could glare up at the ceiling. Didn't assholes have anything better to talk about than him arguing with the teacher? God, he fucking hated this town. "I don't know, I just did."

Ike shrugged and made his way back over to the couch. "Well, you should probably figure out why you did it on the way up the stairs. You know Kyle is gonna be asking the same question, and I doubt he'll drop it like me," the little boy said knowingly. Damn, he really was some kind of super genius.

Without bothering to reply, Stan stomped up the stairs and over to Kyle's room. He didn't even think about knocking as he just went into the room, and was greeted with, "What th— Damnit Stan, can't you knock?!"

Glancing up from the floor where his eyes had been glued, he frowned up at Kyle. Said Jewish boy was clad in nothing but a towel though, his curly red hair dripping down to the floor. Rolling his eyes, Stan replied, "Jesus, calm down dude. It's not like I haven't seen you naked before." Stalking over to Kyle's bed, Stan plopped down on it and crossed his arms behind his head. Staring up at the ceiling, he said, "Who takes a damn shower in the middle of the day?"

"I tripped and landed in a puddle of dog piss on the way home, and I needed to get the rank smell off me. You'd know that if you hadn't gotten detention… speaking of—"

Stan shook his head and interrupted, "I'll tell you about that later, dude. Just get dressed. I wanna go over to Stark's Pond."

The raven-haired boy could hear the sound of shuffling cloth and the sound of a zipper being pulled shut. "Alright, I'm decent," came the voice of his best friend.

Looking over toward Kyle, Stan couldn't help but chuckle. He was wearing his usual attire, although a few wet curls stuck out from underneath his ushanka. "You are the most bashful guy I know," Stan teased.

Making a face, Kyle threw the towel at Stan and muttered, "Shut up. We gonna head over to Stark's Pond or what?"

Disentangling himself from the towel, Stan smiled at his best friend and said, "Yep!"

They quickly made their way downstairs, pausing only long enough so Kyle could let Ike know where they were going. Soon enough, they were out the door and into the crisp autumn air.

* * *

The journey to the pond was a quiet one, though not for lack of trying on Kyle's part. He kept trying to engage Stan in some conversation or another, but was met with unenthusiastic one or two-word replies. Eventually, the Jewish boy just lapsed into silence, though he did constantly flash worried or confused glances over to Stan.

When they finally arrived at the pond, Stan sighed and sat down on a log at the water's edge. He could feel Kyle slide in next to him. Oddly though, Stan did not immediately start talking. He knew he must still be under the effects of the vodka he'd drunk earlier, because nothing was beginning to seem particularly terrible to him yet, but he couldn't feel it. Stan hated that he was becoming accustomed to the sensation of being inebriated, because it meant that he was becoming an alcoholic. Hell… he _knew_ he was an alcoholic, because he drank constantly. Just like his fucking dad.

Kyle, who could no longer bare the silence that had stretched on for nearly ten minutes now, said, "You alright Stan?"

This managed to break the raven-haired boy away from his dark thoughts, and he turned his attention over to his best friend. Giving a well-practiced smile, he replied, "Yea Kyle, I'm fine."

Still uncertain, Kyle surveyed his best friend closely. But when he was unable to find anything suspicious, he gave a curt nod. Changing the subject, Kyle asked, "So… what happened today in class? I mean, you seemed like you really wanted to get in trouble. Especially since Garrison was gonna let you off the hook."

Shrugging, Stan said, "I dunno what came over me. I just… I was fucking bored with class and that stupid lesson. I mean, Celebrity Smackdown? Who the fuck cares?"

Kyle chuckled, "Yea, what an idiotic thing to teach about. Oh, that reminds me, for homework we have to watch the Miley vs. Kim fight and write a five-hundred-word report on the winner." Kyle rolled his eyes at that, and Stan groaned.

"Think I'll get in too much trouble if I don't do it?" Stan asked.

"I wouldn't tempt it, dude. Garrison's already pissed off at you for class today," Kyle replied.

Stan sighed and shook his head. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath, causing Kyle to laugh. "Speaking of people who are pissed at me, how's Wendy?"

Now it was Kyle's turn to shrug, "Last I saw, she was crying with Bebe… really, I don't know why she cares, when she was just planning to break up with you anyways. Probably bummed that you beat her to it, for a change." Kyle's face took on a quizzical look, and he asked, "By the way, what made you do it? You've never been the one to break up with her before."

Guilt crashed into him when Kyle mentioned Wendy crying. But he quickly shook it off. Kyle was right, she was just going to break up with him anyways. Still… he probably could have handled it a bit better than doing it in front of the entire class. At Kyle's question, Stan leaned back and frowned, "I'm not sure. I just suddenly began to think about what everyone always said… that we would never work out together. And I started to think that they were right, and… and I don't think I like her anymore. I mean, she's a good friend, and I like talking to her. And her smiles. But, I don't think I'm crushing on her, if you know what I mean." Stan rubbed a hand against his cheek and huffed, "So, I guess I just thought that maybe it was pointless to date her, if I'm not into her anymore, y'know?"

Kyle beamed at him, "Well, I'm proud of you for taking the initiative, for once. And it's good that you know you don't like her anymore. Maybe now you can move on to another girl and actually advance, since… well, don't take this the wrong way, but you've been pretty stagnant for like… four years."

With a laugh, Stan said, "Yea, I can see that now. And while I don't know about dating other girls,I do know that I won't be getting back together with Wendy. Even if she asks again… which I'm not sure she will. Feels kinda like I broke the chain." Chewing on his lip for a moment, Stan asked, "Do you think she'll be okay? I don't wanna ruin our friendship completely, and I… was kind of an ass today."

The Jewish boy thought for a moment, then finally shrugged, "Yea, you were an ass. But I'm sure she'll be fine, eventually. She might be upset with you for a couple weeks though."

Stan nodded, "Yea, I guessed as much." Suddenly, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first time in four years, he was completely free of that commitment. And while he still had plenty of other shitty problems to deal with, this was at least one less pressure against his mind. Smiling, he sat up a little straighter and nudged Kyle, "So, enough about my failed romance. Are there any girls you've got your eye on? I mean, I know you used to have a crush on Nicole, but I don't see her breaking up with Token anytime soon."

Kyle scrunched up his face, "Nah, not really. Besides, most of the girls at school stillthink I'm gay ever since fat-ass spread that stupid lie that we were a couple."

The raven-haired boy laughed. "Aww, what happened, grumpy because you guys broke up?" he teased, knowing it would set the fiery-tempered boy on edge.

"Oh shut up, asswipe," Kyle growled, shoving Stan hard enough to make him fall off the bench. This only sent him into a fit of laughter.

"Relax Kyle," Stan said once he'd calmed down. "I know you're not gay, 'specially for fat-ass."

Grinning, Kyle added, "Anyone who's gay for fat-ass should probably seek immediate medical attention."

Once again, the two boys started laughing at Cartman's expense. This was what Stan needed to take his mind off of his troubles. Spending time with Kyle always eased his mind, especially when Cartman wasn't around to annoy the Jewish boy.

For a while, the two boys talked and hung out, which made Stan feel all the more light-hearted. Eventually though, his mind began to weigh down on him, making him fret over shitty little details. He knew that this meant he was starting to sober up. But, from the way the light was fading from the sky, it probably wouldn't be odd if he suggested that they head home.

"Hey Kyle," he began, causing his best friend to turn to him, "it's getting kinda late, and aren't we supposed to watch that stupid fight on t.v?"

Kyle blinked and looked up at the sky, before jumping to his feet, "Oh shit, I forgot! C'mon, we can watch it at my house since it's closer, and then we can work on our papers together." The red head flashed a smile at Stan, making his decision to go home waver. He was sorely tempted to accept Kyle's offer. But he knew that throughout the night he would only get more cross, seeing more and more things as shit. Which would probably drive Kyle away from him… and he couldn't let that happen.

"Sorry Kyle, I can't. Mom said I have to be home before dark, since I'm still in trouble for getting sent to the principal's office," he said, feeling shitty about having to lie to his best friend.

Nodding in understanding, Kyle replied, "Alright dude. Call me though after the fight. Maybe your mom will let us talk if she knows we're working on homework together."

Stan made a half-hearted response and stuck his hands in his pockets. Eventually, they made it to Kyle's house, and the two boys parted ways. When he made it back to his own home, night had only just taken over the sky. Entering the living room, he wasn't surprised to see his mom waiting for him on the couch.

Sharon smiled over at her son and said, "Hi Stan, how was your day with Kyle?"

Blinking, he asked, "How did you know I was with Kyle?"

Patting a seat on the couch next to her, she replied, "I gave Sheila a call, and she said the two of you went over to Stark's Pond. Did you boys have a good time?"

Stan nodded.

"That's good. Are you feeling better sweetie?" she asked, giving him a caring smile. This made the boy's guilt even worse, so much so that he actually felt sick to his stomach.

"Actually mom, I'm feeling a little sick. Can I maybe skip dinner tonight and just go straight to bed?" Well, that wasn't technically a lie. "I think I might have a flu coming on." Ah, there was the lie.

Frowning, she went over to the boy and placed a hand against his forehead, "Well… you don't have a fever, but you do feel a little clammy." Pulling off his hat, she smoothed his raven locks away from his forehead. "Alright sweetheart, if that's what you want. Let me know if you do want dinner though, and I'll heat up some leftovers for you."

Stan nodded and thanked her, before heading up to his room. Locking the door, he sighed and closed his eyes. Well, now he would have an excuse for tomorrow when he would inevitably be puking his guts up. After all, that was what generally happened when someone had a hangover.

Going over to his drawer, he pulled out the bottle of vodka and finished it off. That was quickly followed by two cans of beer that he'd swiped from the fridge that morning. And to top it all off, he finished with a shot of straight tequila. Yes, Stan had many bottles stashed away in his drawer.

Completely plastered by this point, the boy stumbled over to his bed and collapsed on the mattress. He was so inebriated, he could barely even remember his own name at this point. Which was what he'd wanted… to forget.

* * *

 **Yep. Bit of a longer chapter than the others, but not too much.**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I really have no idea where I'm going with this story, since it was originally supposed to be a one-shot. But then I just kept expanding on it, and well… yea. So now there is this. This is my first South Park story, so things are going to be a bit rocky at the start as I get a feel for all of the characters.**

 **Also, thank you very much krsQ-Cats and julienthesheep for your reviews. It's good to know at least someone seems to be enjoying the story. If anyone else reading this is enjoying it, I would really love to know your thoughts. So please leave some reviews**!


	4. Clean Up Your Messes

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

Stan awoke to a horrible gurgling in his stomach. Pressing a hand over his mouth, he quickly ran out the door, just barely catching the time shown on his analog clock in bright red.

 _5:32, damn,_ he thought, slamming the bathroom door aside. Too late, as a horrible burning built in his throat and his stomach emptied itself onto the tile floor. Stan stumbled toward the toilet and thrust the seat up, managing to at least aim some of the bile into the porcelain basin.

"Oh God," he moaned miserably, hands white-knuckled against the toilet. The stench was enough to make him gag, and it wasn't long before another round of vomit tore past his lips into the murky water.

Coughing loudly, he smashed his fist down on the plunger, watching the bile and water swirl away down the drain. Pressing his clammy forehead against the seat, Stan groaned again.

He felt like shit.

The odor was still overpowering. Stan lifted his face, then scowled when he realized that there was puke all down the front of his shirt. A puddle was forming near the doorway where he'd slipped up. "God damnit," he muttered, throat burning from the bile.

His hands and knees shook, and Stan wasn't entirely certain if he'd be able to stand at the moment. He'd really fucked up last night. Usually, Stan only drank enough to maintain a constant buzz. He tried to avoid getting shit-faced, because he positively loathed dealing with the aftermath. It was always worse for him, due to his weak stomach and shitty asthma.

Another round of gagging hit him, and he bent over the toilet to prepare for the worst. By this point though, there was nothing left to throw up, so Stan was left dry heaving for a good five minutes or so.

"Eww!"

The blood left his face at the sudden voice, and Stan turned his head to spy Shelly standing in the doorway. His sister had long since gotten her braces off, and while she had mellowed a bit since they were younger, she could still be a huge fucking bitch when she wanted to be.

Her dark brown eyes found his blue, and she wrinkled her nose at him. "You couldn't even make it to the toilet?"

Stan stared at her with bloodshot eyes uncomprehendingly. All he could hear was shit spewing from her mouth. It was enough to cause another wave of nausea to roll over him, so he turned back toward the toilet and began dry heaving again.

Shelly watched her brother for a moment, lips pursed and a hand on her hip. Eventually, she let out an exaggerated sigh and turned back into the hallway. Stan was left alone for a blissful five minutes, before a very worried Sharon Marsh stepped into the bathroom, carefully avoiding the pooling vomit as she tied her robe tighter around her waist.

"Stanley, honey?" She didn't ask what was wrong, like his dad might have; it was obvious from the stench and the way her son was clutching at the toilet. Frowning, she gently rubbed soothing circles along his back.

Closing his eyes, Stan clenched his teeth and swallowed. "Hey mom," he whispered hoarsely. They sat there like that for a few minutes, until Shelly returned with a glass of water. _Mom probably made her grab it_ , he thought idly, sipping at the drink. When Stan finally felt like he wasn't going to vomit anymore, he turned around and leaned his back up against the toilet.

"Looks like you do have the flu," Sharon said softly, smoothing the boy's black locks back from his damp forehead. "I'll have to call the school and let them know you're sick."

Rather than say anything, Stan just watched her. When everything else was shit, his mother was always a constant good. Everyone else in his life—even Kyle—had seemed shitty to him at some point or another, but never his mom.

When he gave no response, Sharon said, "Could you lift your arms, honey, so we can get that soiled shirt off?"

Stan blinked and looked down. He'd completely forgotten about that. A faint blush touched his cheeks, and he said, "It's cool mom, I got it," before shrugging out of his shirt and setting it aside. He eyed the tile, then added guiltily, "Sorry I threw up on the floor. I tried to make it to the toilet, I swear."

"It's alright Stanley," she said softly, running her fingers through his sweaty hair. "Why don't you go use your father's and my bathroom to shower off, so I can clean up in here, okay?"

Stan knew that it wasn't a request, despite her phrasing, and that she would brush off any protest he gave about her cleaning up his mess. "Is dad up?"

"He woke up when Shelly came and got me. I don't know if he went back to sleep or not," she replied, and Stan could hear the hint of annoyance in her tone.

Bracing himself against the toilet, Stan shoved to his feet, only wobbling a little bit. "I'll grab a change of clothes in case, then," he said. Stan made his way to the door, then glanced back and said, "Thanks mom."

"You're welcome Stanley. Now go clean up… is there anything you want in particular for breakfast this morning?"

Everything he could think of sounded like shit. "Just… some eggs and toast," he said after a moment. Even though it would be shitty, at least those would help with his hangover.

Once Stan was alone in his room behind a locked door, he kicked at his dresser. "Ugh, God damnit!" he growled, then clutched at his head and groaned. Flopping down on his bed, Stan kicked off his pants and boxers and just lay there miserably for a moment. Every part of him ached.

A knock startled him and he sat up, then peered at the clock. "7:20? Did I fall asleep?"

"Stanley, hurry up and take a shower! I'm going to start cooking breakfast soon."

Picking up a towel off the floor, Stan wrapped it around his waist and grabbed a fresh set of clothes, then quickly made his way toward his parents' room. Thankfully, his dad was not around, so Stan stepped into the shower and let the steaming water wash over him.

Why had he even gotten so drunk in the first place? Stan couldn't remember, and it was pissing him off. "I'm such a dumbass," he muttered, scrubbing at his skin with the soap to try and clean off the smell of vomit that clung to him.

When he finished the shower, Stan still felt pretty nauseous, and his head was killing him. He doubted that he would throw up again, though. Pulling on some shitty t-shirt and a pair of black jeans, Stan went downstairs.

Shelly and his father were no where in sight. Probably left for school and work respectively. As soon as he sat down at the table, a plate of shit was placed in front of him.

"There you go honey, scrambled eggs and toast."

"Thanks mom," he replied, forcing himself to take a bite of the pile of crap on his plate.

"I already called the school and told them you'll be staying home today. Would you like me to take the day off as well? I can call Tom and tell him—"

"No, it's okay mom," Stan interrupted. "I don't want you to get in trouble with your boss. I'll be fine… probably just end up sleeping most of the day."

Sharon hummed thoughtfully, then relented, "Well, alright Stan." Though she didn't like the idea of leaving her son home alone, Stan had shown a lot of maturity over the last few years. "If you're sure, then I'd best get going. If anything comes up at all, you give me a call, okay?"

Finishing off his plate, Stan nodded. "Promise."

With a quick kiss goodbye, Stan was left alone in an empty house.

He leafed through his dad's liquor cabinet, resurfacing with an old favorite: Jameson Irish Whiskey. His headache was still pounding at his temples, but this would help. And thanks to those Asperger fuckwads, Stan could drink this stuff like water.

As he made his way back up to his room, Stan took a few chugs of the whiskey. He was already starting to feel better once he reached his bed. Setting the bottle aside, Stan grabbed his phone and scrolled through his list of contacts. One of the names caught his eye, and his thumb hovered over it for a moment, before he hesitantly pressed the reply button.

 _S: You guys at school?_

 _P: Not a chance._

 _S: Where are you at?_

 _P: The usual. Why?_

 _S: Skipping school. I might come by._

 _P: Wear something that doesn't look like shit then._

Stan chuckled at the irony in that. Heading over to his drawer, he switched out his Terrance and Phillip shirt for something a bit more appropriate. Throwing on his leather jacket, Stan decided to forgo the red and blue hat—it was ridiculously recognizable, and he didn't need word of this getting back to his mom—and shoved the whiskey into his backpack.

 _Wallet. House key. Phone. Alcohol… seems set_ , he thought. He went down to the kitchen, then hastily scribbled a note down and stuck it to the fridge:

 _Went to the store to grab some soup. Be back soon. -Stan_

He didn't think either of his parents would be home before he got back, but he didn't want to risk it. Better to have an excuse prepared beforehand.

Stan took one more shot out of the whiskey, then shouldered his backpack and left the house, locking the door behind him.

* * *

 **Bit of a filler chapter, sorry. I wanted to use this one to kind of emphasize how fucked Stan really is. On the bright side though, there's a bit of suspense for you all. Who do you think P is? I'd be curious to hear your answers.**


	5. Confessions Among Acquaintences

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

All of the shit in the world seemed to melt away as Stan walked and drank. By the time he reached his destination, Stan was certain that nothing could really bug him anymore.

He pushed through the door that announced his entry with a quiet little _ding ding_ , and made his way through the Denny's toward a table in the corner.

"'Sup," he said, smoothly sliding into the booth next to Pete, the goth boy he'd been texting earlier.

"Raven," Pete said in acknowledgement, taking a drag from his cigarette. "So what made your preppy little ass skip school today?"

Smirking, Stan replied, "What, a guy can't take the day off to hang out with his asshole goth friends?"

"Ugh, don't say we're friends. That's what Timberlake-wannabes have," Michael said, eyeing Stan. "At least you decided to dress properly for once."

Stan glanced down at his Type O t-shirt, just barely visible from beneath his jacket. "Figured you wouldn't let me sit down if I had some other shitty shirt on."

Henrietta drummed her fingers against the side of her coffee cup. "Is that why you came by, Raven? Depression dig its long black talons back into your brain?"

"I've got it under control," Stan replied, flagging down the waitress.

"Oh great, another little goth punk," she said, walking over with notepad in hand. "Let me guess, you want a coffee?"

Putting on his best angsty don't-give-a-fuck voice, Stan replied, "Wow, the preppy old hag actually gets something right for a change. What do you want, a freaking medal?"

Snorting, the waitress rolled her eyes and turned away to grab Stan's coffee.

"Mocking us isn't a way to get us on your side, you know," Firkle said, surprising Stan. The youngest goth didn't usually talk to Stan.

"I don't need you on my side, Firkle. I just need to hang out with people who won't jump down my throat every time I comment on how much everything sucks."

The waitress returned and set a steaming mug in front of Stan, then left without another word. Stan was grateful for that; he wasn't in the mood to pretend to be friendly, despite his buzz.

Michael held out a hand, "Cigarette?"

Stan waved him off, "You know I don't smoke."

"One of your many pussy prep flaws," Michael retorted, packing the offered cigarette back into its box.

"We all have our vices," Stan said.

The four goth kids began lamenting to each other about how much the world sucks, and Stan began to tune out. When he'd first approached Pete a couple years ago—about two months after his drinking habit had picked up—to hang out again, the red-headed goth boy had been understandably suspicious. It took a bit of convincing on Stan's part, but Pete had finally relented and agreed, on the condition that Stan didn't try to be around them if he was going to dress as a "Bieber Boy", which Stan was more than happy to oblige. The others hadn't exactly liked the arrangement at first, but as time went on and Stan didn't ever try to really put on a cheerful front for them, they begrudgingly accepted him as an occasional member of their clique.

His other friends knew that Stan sometimes still hung out with the goths. Kenny and Cartman had ribbed him for it a bit at first, but when Stan didn't really react one way or another they backed off. Kyle disapproved. It had taken Stan admitting that it helped to sometimes bitch about how awful things were, so that he could be more tolerable the rest of the time, for Kyle to really give in and stop pestering him about it.

And it really did help. There were times when it was too hard to be around Kyle, as memories of the jewish boy telling him he was a bummer and to go somewhere else really hit him. Pete and the others told everyone to fuck off, so it didn't really bother Stan if they said the same to him.

A finger snapped in front of his face, and Stan blinked, shaken out of his thoughts. "What?"

"Contemplating the darkness of the universe?" Michael said, cocking a brow at Stan.

"Something like that," Stan muttered.

Henrietta slid out of the booth, followed by Firkle and Michael. "We're heading over to my room. Are you going to come, Raven?" she asked.

Stan looked at them, then at Pete, who was waiting for him to get out of the booth. He really ought to head home before his parents got there, but Stan still didn't want to be alone. "Yea, sure," he replied, hopping down next to them.

* * *

Henrietta's room was as dreary as ever. Stan sat leaning up against her door, watching the other three as they recited their goth poetry and smoked.

 _"Through the graveyard, the lost ones walk.  
_ _Their empty sockets, turned to the sky.  
_ _They seek salvation as blood drips, forming rose petals.  
_ _Only oblivion rains upon them.  
_ _Killing all hope for the soul of man.  
_ _Death reclaims us."_

"A bit more abstract than your usual poetry," Stan remarked.

She shrugged, "Lately it's felt like we are all abstractions." Henrietta looked up from her book of poems and sucked ash through her cigarette.

With a grin, Stan replied, "Well, there's a line for your next poem."

"Douchebag," she said, rolling her eyes at him. Catching sight of his backpack, she asked, "What's with the bag, if you're ditching?"

Stan frowned. "It's nothing."

"If you're going to continue to hang out with us even though you're not goth, then we need full disclosure, Stan," Michael said.

"Firkle's emo, what about him?"

The youngest boy straightened, "Oh fuck off Stan, I'm not emo."

"Well you sure were eager to jump ship when—"

Pulling out his switchblade, Firkle snarled, "You better watch your mouth, Stan, or I'll gut you."

Pete stood at that, "Woah woah, easy." The red-head might've usually been all for killing some preppy wannabes, but he actually liked Stan. Looking toward his classmate, he said, "Lay off Firkle. That's been dealt with, and it's in the past."

Stan, alarmed at having a knife pulled on him, eyed the younger boy warily and nodded. "Yea… sorry."

Firkle backed off and put his blade away, but the air in the room was still tense.

Hoping to alleviate the situation a bit, Stan unzipped his backpack. He hadn't planned on telling anyone about his vice, but at least these four wouldn't go blabbing about it. Stan frowned; it hurt to think that his sort-of friends were more trustworthy than Kyle.

He pulled out the bottle of whiskey and showed it to them. "Jameson's."

They all looked at him with surprised expressions, not having expected that. "You… drink?" Pete asked cautiously.

Tensing, Stan said, "Yea. What of it?"

Arching an eyebrow, Michael said, "So, you'll drink, but cigarettes are off the table?"

"I drink because I have to." Stan hesitated a moment, then asked, "Do... Do you guys drink at all?"

They shook their heads. "Never really felt the need to," Pete said.

"Oh." Stan looked at Pete, "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Henrietta scoffed, "Why would we, so those poser adults can once again butt their noses into our business? Yea right, I'd rather go kill myself."

Relief washed over Stan, and he relaxed his shoulders. "Cool." He eyed them once more, then shrugged and unscrewed the cap and took two big gulps of whiskey. He held the bottle out, "Want some?"

No one budged. Just when he was about to take the bottle back, Pete reached out and grabbed it. Stan paused, surprised. He hadn't expected any of them to accept his offer.

Everyone watched the red-head as he slowly lifted the bottle. Licking his lips, he hesitated, then tipped it back and drank about a shot's worth. Pete coughed and gagged, handing the bottle back to Stan, who was grinning like a maniac.

Henrietta wrinkled her nose at the spit flying from Pete's lips. "If you barf in my room, I'll kill you Pete."

He shook his head and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Ugh, okay, wasn't expecting that."

"Dude, I can't believe you actually did that!" Stan cheered, causing everyone to give him a flat look. He grinned sheepishly, then forced himself to calm down. "I mean, wow, way to choke. Can't even handle a bit of whiskey?"

A door slammed downstairs, and Stan hurriedly shoved the bottle back in his bag. "Shit, what time is it?" he muttered, looking at his phone. 3:35. "Fuck, my mom's gonna be home soon."

"Worried about what your mom thinks?" Michael muttered, frowning at Stan.

Giving the older boy an annoyed look, Stan shouldered his bag. "Yea, I am. Everyone else in this town might be a fucking piece of shit, but my mom isn't." The intensity and anger in his voice made the other boy back off, and no one else said anything.

Stan reached for the doorknob, then paused when Pete spoke. "Hang on. My house is just across the street. I'll give you a ride home."

The other three chose not to comment as Pete and Stan left. They passed by Henrietta's mother on the way out, and Stan ducked his head to keep her from getting too close of a look. Once they were outside, Stan shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, "What gives?"

Pete shrugged. "I don't know."

"Come on, there must be some reason," Stan pushed, watching the other boy.

Pete didn't reply, so Stan let it go. They crunched their way through the snow and crossed the street. Once they reached the goth kid's house, he pulled out some keys from his back pocket.

"You good to drive?" Stan asked.

Pete scoffed, "It was one drink Stan, now get in before I change my mind." Stan did so without further protest. The first time Pete or Henrietta had driven him somewhere, he'd been nervous as hell. Now, Stan new they were better drivers than his Dad, so he didn't mind.

As they drove, Stan turned toward Pete, "Really, why did you offer to give me a ride?"

"Can't you just let it go?"

"C'mon Pete, you can tell me."

Groaning, Pete looked over at Stan, then back at the road. "Because I actually like you, Stan, and I like hanging out with you. You don't come by often, and I see those other three all the time." He gritted his teeth, "But if you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll deny all of it and then never hang out with you ever again. Got it?"

Grinning, Stan said, "Sure Pete." He was silent for a few minutes, then, "For a faggy goth kid, you're not so bad yourself."

Pete rolled his eyes, but Stan could tell he wasn't offended. "So, why'd you take up drinking?" He didn't sound accusatory, just curious.

"Remember a couple years ago, when there was that big scare about school vaccinations giving kids aspergers, and they said I had it?"

Pete nodded.

"Well, some fuckers made me drink whiskey until I was hammered, and it made everything stop seeming so shitty. It was… really nice, to not hate everything so goddamn much all the time. Everyone kinda forgot that I'd been drinking, and I started to do it on the sly. Whenever I'm not at least buzzed, it all turns back to shit, so… I drink."

"Does anyone else know?" Pete asked.

Stan shook his head. "Just you guys, and I probably wouldn't have even told you, but Firkle really freaked me out when he pulled a fucking knife on me."

Pete barked out a laugh, startling Stan. He'd never heard the other boy laugh before—he rarely even smiled. "Yea, Firkle still pretty much hates you and sees you as just another poser. Which, you are."

"Do Michael and Henrietta feel that way too?" Stan asked. If Pete was the only one in the group who didn't hate him, then maybe it would be better if he stopped trying to force himself on them.

"Nah, they don't really care one way or another. Michael's pretty sure that you're still goth, but just won't admit it because it upsets your boyfriend."

Stan blinked. "Boyfriend?"

"That jewish kid you're always hanging around. Broflovski."

"Woah, hang on a minute. Kyle isn't my boyfriend… I'm not gay! I dated Wendy for years, for Christ's sake."

Pete eyed him. "Yea, but we heard you broke up with her. Figured you were finally coming to terms with it and ditching your beard."

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dude, I'm not gay."

"Got a problem with gay people?"

"What? No! Dude, my dog is gay, and Big Gay Al is a good friend of mine. I don't have a problem with gay people. Hell, I even hang out with Tweek and Craig from time to time, when they aren't being fucking assholes."

"Mmm, that's good."

Stan looked at the other boy. "Why do you care? I mean, I thought you hated everyone but Michael, Firkle, and Henrietta?" _…and me_ , he thought.

"I hate people because they're fucking posers and Justin and Britney wannabes. I don't hate people for their sexuality or gender or race. I'm not a fucking bigot, Stan." Pete actually cracked a grin and added, "Besides, if I did, then I'd have to hate myself, because I'm gay. And I'm _not emo_."

Not having expected the sudden confession, Stan gaped at Pete. "You are?" he asked. "I didn't know that."

Pete shrugged. "Not a lot of people do. I don't go flaunting it around like those preps Tweak and Tucker do. Henrietta knows; she was the first person, actually. Firkle and Michael know too. And my parents know, but they just chalked it up to me being a deviant, since I'm goth." He turned to look at Stan, "And now you know too. Are you planning to tell anyone else?"

Stan frowned. "I wouldn't out you like that, Pete. I'd really be an asshole if I did."

With a nod, Pete said, "Good." The car stopped, and Stan realized that they'd arrived at his place. Thankfully, neither of his parent's cars were there.

"Hey, thanks for the ride, man," Stan said, stepping out of the car.

"Don't mention it," Pete replied. Once Stan shut the door, Pete rolled down the window and said, "You know, it's too bad you aren't gay. Because if you weren't such a fucking prep, I might actually want to go out with you." Then without giving Stan a chance to respond, he pulled out of the driveway and took off down the street.

Stan watched his friend leave with a startled expression on his face. It was just as well that Pete drove off, as Stan really wasn't sure what to say to that revelation. He'd never even really thought that way about another boy. Sure, when he'd found out his dad was Lorde and his girlfriend pretended to be trans, Stan had been confused about his gender for a solid week, but that had been it. He'd realized he was cis, and then everyone got on with their lives.

He'd never really taken sexuality into account. After all, he'd always been attracted to girls. One girl, anyways. And Bebe's boobs, but that had been… well, even Craig and Tweek had been distracted then.

But now he just wasn't interested in Wendy anymore. Sure, she was pretty, and he hoped that they would still be friends after his shitty way of breaking up with her, but he didn't want to date her. Stan had never really bothered looking at other girls—or anyone else, really—besides Wendy. Thinking about his class, he didn't really want to date any of the other girls.

So… was he asexual? If he thought about it, could he see himself with a guy? Was he gay? Bisexual?

Frowning, Stan went into his house with a lot more to think about than he did when he left.

* * *

 **This chapter kind of took me by surprise, as it was certainly not planned when I first conceived of the story. Oh well.**

 **Sorry about the crappy attempt at goth poetry. Also, apologies if the goths seem OoC. I'm afraid I haven't quite gotten them down yet. Hopefully some people are still enjoying the story, though.**

 **Once again, thank you to everyone has reviewed, favorited, and followed thus far. It really means a lot to me and helps motivate me to get the chapters out faster.**


	6. Questioning

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

The next day, Stan stood at the bus stop like usual. For once, he was the first of his friends to arrive, due to his mother dropping him off. She had wanted to take him all the way to school, but he insisted it wasn't necessary. That didn't stop her from fussing until he'd finally agreed to let her drive him to the bus stop.

Truthfully, Stan didn't really care about taking the bus. He did, however, need to talk to Kyle. Stan had completely blown him off the other day when it came to calling after the Celebrity Smack Down was over. Yesterday when Stan didn't show up for class, he'd started getting texts from his best friend all day, but Stan didn't really feel like talking to anyone after Pete's confession. He'd needed to think.

Well, now he had to face the music after ignoring Kyle. He could have called or texted, true, but Stan felt it would probably be better to talk face-to-face. Besides, he was hammered enough that Kyle's yelling hopefully wouldn't bother him too much.

"Well well well, look who finally decided to show up," a voice said to his left.

"What kind of bullshit did you spin to get out of class?" Cartman asked. Stan sighed and glanced at Cartman, who was scowling at him.

"Wasn't bullshit," Stan replied tiredly. "I had the flu." At least he didn't have to feel bad about lying to the fatass.

"Uh huh, sure you did. I bet you just spent all day in your room sobbing and bitching about not being with Wendy anymore."

"Whatever you say, Cartman," he said. Some time ago, Stan realized that the quickest way to defuse Cartman was to not respond to what he said. It frustrated the fat boy to no end, and Stan was becoming the subject of his ire less and less.

"Thaaat's right," Cartman sang, poking a finger toward Stan. "Little miss priss bitch hippie misses his wittle girlfriend. Couldn't even show your face yesterday, you were soooo embarrassed."

Stan shrugged, "If that's what you want to think, sure."

Cartman huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Stupid hippie," he muttered under his breath, causing Stan to smirk.

"Stan?"

Wincing, Stan turned and caught sight of his best friend walking toward the bus stop. "Oh, uh, hey dude," he said.

When he reached them, Kyle took his usual place between Stan and Cartman and set a hand to his hip. Seeing the look on his face, Stan cut in before Kyle could go off on one of his jersey-jew rants. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't text you back yesterday. After I got home from the lake, I felt sick. Turns out I had a nasty case of the flu."

Kyle eyed him for a moment, then decided that Stan looked sufficiently ashamed and relaxed his posture. "Well, alright. No sweat then dude." He bumped his fist against Stan's shoulder, then asked, "How are you feeling now?"

"Other than a bit bummed I gotta go back to class, pretty good." Stan shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and asked, "So, what did I miss?"

"Eh, not a lot. We moved on from Celebrity Smack Down and started talking about the new season of the Bachelor," Kyle said.

"It was pretty easy," Cartman added. "All you gotta do is say Marissa is Michael's one true love and Garrison'll give you an A."

Stan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, "God fucking damnit. Just once, I'd like to read Animal Farm or learn about plate tectonics or whatever the fuck other sixth graders learn about."

"Pfft, why?" Cartman asked. "Class is so much easier this way. Besides, everyone already knows gin and tonic is the best. And it goes in a glass, dumbass, not a plate."

"Don't call Stan a dumbass, fat boy. And he said _plate tectonics_ , which are pieces of the earth's crust that move and form mountains and cause earthquakes and other natural phenomena," Kyle snapped.

"Ey!" Cartman yelled. "I'm not fat you fucking jew. It's all muscle. That's why I'm a linebacker on the football team."

Kyle scoffed. "No, you're a linebacker because you're so fat, you take up half the field and no one can get around you."

Tuning his friends out, Stan waved when Kenny approached. "Hey Kenny."

The boy in the orange parka waved back. Stan could just see his bloodshot eyes from the hole of his hoodie. Stan cocked a brow at him. It was a bit early in the day to already be stoned. He would've said as much to the poor boy too, if Kyle and Cartman weren't around. Instead, he just said, "You're kinda late. Bus is almost here."

Kenny just shrugged and grinned. His muffled words sounded from beneath the parka, "Yea, lost track of the time."

Cartman seemed to take notice of the newest arrival then, and yelled, "Oi, Kinneh, tell Kahl that just because he's a daywalker piece of shit who can't play sports, doesn't mean he needs to bitch about my amazing athletic ability. You know he's just jealous, right Kinneh?"

"That is _not_ true, Cartman," Kyle snarled.

Kenny lifted his hands in mock protest, "Woah, easy fellas. Kyle, you need to calm down, dude. Cartman… you have about as much athletic prowess as a piece of soggy bread."

Both Stan and Kyle burst out laughing at that. The bus pulled up then, and they along with Kenny boarded, leaving Cartman standing there red faced and scowling. "Well screw you guys! I don't have to talk that from you," he yelled.

"Oye, _vamonos_ ," the bus driver said.

Cartman grumbled for a few more moments, before huffing and climbing onto the bus. Despite his apparent anger, he easily slid in next to Kenny, pushing the poor boy up against the window. "Dick," he muttered to Kenny, who just chuckled.

Stan and Kyle took up seats opposite the other two on the bus. As he sat down, Stan caught Wendy's eye. She glared at him a moment, then turned away to speak with Bebe in hushed tones. Stan frowned slightly, then turned to look at his super best friend. "Do you think I should talk to Wendy?"

Kyle eyed Stan, then glanced behind them to look at the aforementioned girl. "Honestly dude? It might be better to let her come to you."

"Yea… I guess. I just don't want her to be upset," Stan replied, guilt trickling into his voice.

Throwing an arm around Stan's shoulders, Kyle replied, "Cheer up, Stan. Sure, you went about it in kind of an uncool way, but breaking up is best for both of you. You already said that the spark wasn't there anymore, and soon, Wendy'll realize that too."

After a moment, Stan nodded and gave his friend a grin, "You're right." Feeling a bit better, Stan cast his gaze around the bus. Finally spying who he was looking for, Stan asked, "Hey, if I wanted to ask someone something personal, do you think they'd get upset?"

Kyle blinked at the question. "Uhh… I guess it depends on who you ask and what you're asking. I mean, I'm your super best friend, and I'd tell you anything. But if you went up to Token and asked him how often he jacks it, you'd probably end up with a busted lip."

Stan snorted at the comment about Token, though again there was a sharp spike of guilt underneath it that hit him when Kyle mentioned how they didn't keep secrets from one another. "What about Craig?"

"What _about_ Craig?" Kyle repeated.

"Well… do you think he'd get upset if I asked him something personal?"

Kyle pondered that for a moment. "Again, I think it depends on what you want to ask him."

"Just wondering what it's like to be gay."

 _That_ caused Kyle to do a double take. Seeing his expression, Stan quickly added, "Not like that. Someone I know came out to me a few days ago, and I just… I want to know the best way to be supportive, you know?"

"Who came out to you?"

Now it was Stan's turn to give his best friend a flat look. "Kyle, I'm not going to out somebody. Even to my best friend."

Kyle flushed. "You're right, sorry. I wasn't thinking when I asked."

"It's okay," Stan replied, giving his friend a sincere smile. "But do you think he'd be upset if I asked?"

"Mmm… I doubt it. Craig may be an asshole, but if you explain what it's for, then I'm sure he'd be sympathetic."

"I find that hard to believe, but… maybe."

Kyle shook his head. "I'm serious. Or, you could probably ask Tweek, but you'll probably stress him out, and then Craig will _really_ be pissed."

The bus pulled up to the school and came to a stop. As the vehicle emptied out, Stan grabbed Kyle by the arm and dragged him through the crowd of kids. He peered around until he spotted the couple, and towed Kyle along with him, not bothering to wait for Kenny or Cartman.

"Hey Craig, Tweek, wait up," Stan called, hurrying to catch up with the other boys.

"Uh, Stan?" Kyle asked as the other boys turned to look at them. "Any particular reason you brought me along?"

Stan blinked. "Moral support?" he offered weakly. "I mean… you're better at talking to Craig than I am. If I start to put my foot in my mouth, you can be there to help."

The jewish boy shrugged, and together they walked over to South Park Elementary's only gay couple.

"Hey guys," Stan said.

Craig sized him up. "What do you want?" he asked in that flat, nasally voice of his.

Stan glanced at Kyle, who nodded encouragingly. Taking a breath, he said, "Okay, so… I have a friend that came out to me the other day. And I just… I was wondering what it's like to be gay? Not, you know, not for anything related to _me_. I want to be as supportive as possible for him. And I figure that maybe if I know what it's like to be gay, then I can at least sympathize when he is trying to talk to me about it, even if I can't empathize, you know? I mean… it's not like I could actually understand. It's the same with Token and the n-word and—"

Kyle clapped a hand over his mouth with a laugh. "Stan, dude, you're rambling. Calm down." An embarrassed blush spread over Stan's face, and he looked over at the other two boys. Craig was smirking at him, and Tweek looked alarmed but pleased.

"Th-there's another gay kid in South Park?" Tweek asked, tugging at his shirt. "I—oh jeez—I mean… that actually…" He blinked. "That actually t-takes some of the pressure… off?" He made it sound like a question, as though less pressure was a foreign concept for him. Which, to be honest, it probably was.

"Uh, yea," Stan replied unsurely. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"Are you gonna tell us who it is?" Craig asked.

Scowling, Stan said, "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Don't you remember how much it sucked when the Asian girls outed you and Tweek? You guys were miserable for like a week!"

"Alright, alright. You don't have to be such a prick about it," Craig said, giving Stan the finger.

"Are you going to help me or not?" Stan asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. He wasn't sober by a long shot, but Craig's attitude was definitely beginning to ruin his buzz.

"Oh God, oh man… what if we t-tell you something wrong! And then it ruins your friend's life. And then he tries to k-kill himself. Oh God!" Tweek wailed, pulling at his hair and working himself into a panic. "That is way too much pressure. I don't want to make anyone c-commit suicide!"

"Honey, relax," Craig said flatly, grabbing Tweek's hand and pulling it from his hair. "We're not going to make anyone kill themselves." He shot a glare at Stan, and said, "Right?"

Thinking of Pete and his utter loathing of all things emo, Stan smirked and replied, "Trust me, Tweek, he is the _last_ guy that would ever kill himself."

That made Kyle give him a curious look, and Stan's smile faltered. Shit. He probably shouldn't say things like that. Kyle was intelligent enough to deduce who it was from like two or three clues.

Once Tweek was sufficiently calm—or as calm as the coffee-addicted boy could be—Craig spoke up. "To answer your question, being gay in South Park is weird. First, everyone cares about your relationship, and somehow, it affects _their_ relationships."

Tweek whimpered, "It's s-so much pressure."

Craig ran his free hand through Tweek's hair, then continued, "Second, for some reason, everyone always wants to give you money once they find out you're gay. Since coming out two years ago, I've probably got about ten thousand dollars saved up."

Stan's eyes bugged out of his head at that. "Ten thousand dollars!" he gasped.

"There's no way that's true," Kyle said, staring at them suspiciously.

Craig shrugged. "Believe me or not, it's true. Tweek's got even more, because everyone said he's the 'uke', and apparently ukes get more money."

Stan and Kyle traded a look. Neither were sure they believed Craig's words, but they also weren't sure why he would lie to them. If anything, Craig probably had more reason to lie about _not_ having any money, since he and Stan's friends had a history with trying to use him for his money.

"Third," Craig said, "You can get away with a lot more shit, because people don't want to punish you because they want to seem 'cool' and 'supportive'. Every time Garrison has sent me to Principal Victoria's office, she's just given me money and sent me back to class."

Kyle tilted his head quizzically. "But, uhh… you never come back to class after you get in trouble."

Craig smirked. "Duh. I always go home. It's not like I'm going to get in trouble. I'm gay. People in South Park don't punish gay kids."

"But what's it like actually being gay?" Stan asked.

Craig frowned at him. "I just told you."

Stan shook his head. "No, I mean… what's it like _being_ with another guy?"

Craig looked at Tweek, who blushed and looked away. Finally, Craig shrugged and said, "Probably not all that different from being with a girl. You just don't have boobs where there would normally be some. It's a lot easier to understand each other too. Girls are a nightmare to try to figure out, but guys make sense." He ruffled Tweek's hair fondly and said, "At least Tweek does."

"So…" Stan bit his lip. Perhaps he was getting a bit too personal, but Craig was being cool so far, and maybe he could just push a little bit further. "So, it's not weird, you know… kissing another guy. Or…" Now it was Stan's turn to blush, giving Tweek a run for his money.

The other black-haired boy stood up a bit straighter and gave Stan a cold look. "I don't really see how that's any of your business, _Marsh._ "

Stan flinched at the use of his last name. Kyle, ever the loyal friend, jumped in and said, "Hey, easy Craig. Like Stan said, he's just trying to figure this stuff out so he can help his friend. He didn't mean anything by it, right Stan?"

Without looking up, Stan nodded meekly and said, "Right… sorry."

Surprisingly, it was Tweek who spoke up. "It's—aagh!—it's alright Stan. It's just kind of the p-point of being… you know, _gay_." Stan looked at Tweek, who continued, "For us, it's weird that guys n-normally want to kiss girls. For us, _you're_ the weird ones."

"I guess I hadn't considered that," Stan replied. "Sorry. I really didn't mean to offend you guys or anything."

"It's fine," Craig said. "Anything else you want to know?"

Stan looked at Kyle, who shrugged. "Not really," Stan said, "thanks for being cool and talking to me about this stuff."

"No problem," Craig replied, then looped his arm around Tweek's waist, and the two of them stalked off toward school.

"They answer everything you wanted to know?" Kyle asked.

Stan thought for a moment. "Yea, I suppose so. There's still some stuff I'm wondering about, but that helped a lot."

"That's good." The minute warning bell rang, and Kyle shouldered his back pack. "Come on, let's get to class before we get in trouble."

"Right behind you," Stan replied.

* * *

 **I liked this chapter. I'm getting a bit more of a feel for the characters. I also always love writing Stan and Kyle interacting. The part with Tweek and Craig caught me by surprise, but I think I did a fairly good job with them. Again, I'd originally started writing this story pretty much right after Ass Burgers, so the TweekxCraig episode hadn't aired yet. Still, I like them and I'm happy to continue their being a couple in this story.**

 **And before anyone mentions it, I'd already said I am going to pick and chose what elements from the show are canon in this story. I do not like PC Principal, and I do like Principal Victoria. The talk she has with Wendy in the Breast Cancer Show Ever episode means a lot to me, since my mom is a breast cancer survivor. I have absolutely zero interest in writing her out of the story.**


	7. Don't Mistake My Heart For Weakness

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

Nothing particularly strange happened during the first few hours of class—well, nothing strange for _South Park_ anyways. Garrison continued on his rants about the Bachelor, and Stan tuned him out. Thankfully, there were no notes for him today. In fact, it seemed as though pretty much everyone was content to ignore him.

 _Figures_ , he thought, _that they'd take Wendy's side._

At one point, Garrison was called out of class for one reason or another, and the students were left to their own devices. Chatter immediately began around Stan, but he mostly continued to ignore it, catching only snippets of the conversations around him.

"—only got a C, because I said Kelly was better for Michael—"

"—farted on Phillip's face! It might be the funniest—"

"—suppose it is? There can't be that many gay—"

"—nerve of him not even trying to apologize for what he—"

That last voice was Bebe, causing Stan to wince. Even though he still liked Wendy as a friend, he'd never really been very fond of _her_ best friend. Bebe perpetuated issues and made them out to be worse than they actually were. Plus, he'd never really forgiven her for hurting Kyle for the List incident, and then trying to kill them to cover it up. Personally, Stan thought the blonde was _fucking nuts_. He'd never really understood why Wendy continued to hang out after that.

 _Then again_ , he thought, _Kyle and I have done a lot of arguably unforgivable shit to each other over the years, and yet we're still super best friends._

Stan looked at Kyle. He had been hurt by the redhead in the past, true. Some of which he still hadn't quite gotten over, despite having forgiven the jewish boy. But he needed Kyle. The other boy was like… like… Stan wasn't even sure. He just knew that a life without Kyle in it just wasn't one worth living.

Kyle glanced up from where he'd been doodling on a sheet of paper and caught Stan's gaze. Smiling a bit, he arched a brow at his best friend and asked, "What's up?"

Stan shrugged. "Nothin', just thinking." He leaned in to look at Kyle's notebook, "Whatcha doin'?"

Kyle reflexively jerked his page away, then sheepishly turned it back for Stan to see. "Don't laugh."

It was a drawing of the Human Kite, Toolshed, and Mysterion, kicking the shit out of the Coon. Stan grinned widely at it, looking back at Kyle with glittering blue eyes. "Haven't thought about those four in a few years. You hoping for a resurrection?" he asked.

A tinge of color spread over Kyle's cheeks, and he pulled the paper back. "No. I mean… not like. Well, we got into a _lot_ of shit with them. I was just… reminiscing, you know? Been feeling a bit nostalgic for Kite lately."

Stan nodded. Sometimes, he missed Toolshed too. Or rather, he missed the general sense of freedom and childishness that came with being superheroes. Toolshed didn't have to worry about drinking or scaring away his friends or dealing with an alcoholic father who didn't give a shit. Toolshed was just a badass who used power tools to fight crime.

Unfortunately, his dad had reclaimed the power tools when he went on the house flipping craze with Stan's mother, so Toolshed had been out of commission for nearly two months. By then, the rest of the kids had moved on to playing a different game.

Stan had always been a bit bitter of the fact that he never got to let Toolshed go out with a bang.

"You still have the costume?" Stan asked curiously.

Kyle chuckled. "I do. Doesn't fit anymore though, since I started my growth spurt." Stan had figured as much. Shortly into fifth grade, Kyle had begun growing up and up and up, and he had yet to stop. Kyle was the third tallest in their class, after Token and Craig. It had been a complete shock to all of their friends, considering that Gerald was average height, and Sheila was one of the shortest adults in town.

Stan had gained a few inches as well. He certainly wasn't as short as Butters or Clyde, at least. At the moment though, the top of his head was about even with Kyle's brow line. A fact which Kyle definitely enjoyed teasing him about from time to time.

Kyle waved a hand at him, and Stan blinked, realizing he'd missed what his best friend had said. "What?" he asked.

With a sigh, he repeated, "I _said_ , do you want to hang out after school? You aren't still grounded, are you?"

Stan shook his head, "Nah. But, uh… I doubt your mom will want us hanging if you could catch the flu." He wasn't sure why he was making excuses. A part of him was just nervous about being alone with his best friend too often.

Kyle waved him off. "It'll be fine. You don't seem sick. Besides, we don't have to go to my house."

"Don't you have to study?"

"I'm sure I can get it done later tonight." The redhead frowned. "Come on, Stan, let's just do something. Just us."

"I already have plans," Stan blurted out.

Kyle blinked, his frown deepening. "You… do? With who?"

Shit. Stan cast around for an excuse. Any excuse. _Come on Stan, you jackass, think of something before he catches you in your lie._

"My…" he hesitated, "my friend. The one that, you know." God, he hated lying to Kyle. He hated being scared to spend time with him alone. But he had to. He couldn't… couldn't trust himself.

 _Just going to drive him away again_.

"Oh." Kyle looked down at his notebook. "Okay." Stan's heart lurched at seeing his best friend so disheartened.

"I'm really sorry, Kyle," he said sincerely. Because he was sorry. Sorry that he couldn't let himself show Kyle the shitty cynical person he truly was. "He just… he has a shit home life, and I'm… I want to be supportive, you know? If I had known you wanted to hang out tonight…" He let the words hang, unable to bring himself to finish the lie.

 _You're such a fucking piece of shit, Marsh_.

Kyle shook his head. "It's fine. You're fine." The redhead boy smiled at him. Stan's stomach felt hollow at how forced the smile was. "No big deal," Kyle continued, "we see each other at school all the time anyways. And there will be other times to hang, right?"

Stan nodded. "Right."

Garrison returned shortly after that, wearing a bright pink wig for some reason. Kyle turned back to the front to pay attention, and Stan let his eyes glass over as he tuned everything out, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

When the lunch bell rang, Stan decided he wasn't hungry for whatever shit they were serving. As his three friends left for the lunch room, he slipped out of the school and made his way around to the back of the building.

There they sat, smoking their cigarettes and bitching about the other students.

"Hey," Stan said, sliding in next to Pete.

"You're wearing your douchebag prep clothes, Raven," Henriette retorted, her voice more annoyed than usual.

"We don't want a conformist like you tthhppft ptthff pppphtht," Firkle muttered, though shit just started spewing from his mouth before Stan caught the last of his words. He blew smoke out directly into Stan's face.

Stan coughed and glared at the four of them. "Fuck off, assholes. I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with your 'can only wear black when you hang with us' rules right now."

Michael glanced at him. "What's got your panties in a twist, Marsh?"

"Everything's just… it's all shitty," he growled. "I don't want to be around my other shitty friends right now because I'll 'offend their senses' and 'bum them out'." He rolled his eyes. "So, I figure it's better to hang out with you douchebags, since you already hate me."

Michael shrugged. "Whatever. As long as those other posers don't try to follow you."

Pete just watched him from the corner of his eye, smoking his cigarette. They others went back to griping about conformists, but Pete remained silent, eyeing him.

Finally, it began to get the better of Stan's nerves, and he snapped, "What the fuck do you want?"

Pete shrugged. "If memory serves, you have a little vice to get you through your shitty moods. What happened, did a teacher catch you?"

"My mom forced me to drive with her to school today. Couldn't get anything to bring with me to school." He let an angry breath out through his nose. "Now I have to go through the rest of the fucking day with everything turning into shit around me."

Pete smirked, "Well, I don't mind you so much like this. Better than when you act like a fucking Timberlake."

"Yea, well, you're about the only one. Everyone else just shuts me out when I tell them the truth."

The goth boy took a moment to inhale through his cigarette, then said, "Well, if you don't want to deal with them, you could always ditch."

Stan shook his head, "My mom would find out, then I'd be facing even more shit than I already am." He scowled, "I just don't want to have to listen to Garrison or Cartman or anyone else spew shit out of their mouths."

"You could always just go get something to drink."

Stan let out a sarcastic laugh. "Right, because this shitty town will sell a liquor to a twelve-year-old."

Pete shrugged. "They don't sell smokes to them either, and yet here I am." For emphasis, he sucked smoke through the cigarette, then ashed it out on the sidewalk. "There are ways around the shitty conformist rules, Stan."

"Doesn't matter," Stan mumbled, "we're already in school anyways, so—"

"Would you stop being a fucking goody-two-shoes for once? There's a convenience store around the corner. We'll get something there."

"I already told you I couldn't ditch."

Pete snorted. "Don't worry, I'll have you back before anybody misses you. Come on."

Stan looked at the other three. Henrietta and Michael just stared back at him and breathed through their cigarettes. A lump of shit was in the place where Firkle used to be.

Stan let out a slow breath, then followed Pete away from the school.

* * *

There were no cars in front of the convenience store when they reached it. In fact, the entire lot seemed to be deserted, except for a few older teenagers loitering near the back of the store. Pete led Stan straight to them.

"Heads up you Bieber pricks," Pete said, strolling up to them. The three boys straightened and looked down at then, mixed expressions on their faces. Stan was surprised to find that he actually recognized one of them.

"Kevin?" he asked, staring up at the older boy.

The eldest McCormick kid frowned, then squinted at Stan. "Hey… you're Shelly's brother, aren't you?"

Rather than answer the older boy, Stan turned to Pete. "Dude, if word of this gets back to my mom, I'll literally never be allowed to leave the house again."

"Relax, Raven," Pete replied, then turned to the older boys. "I need a pack of cigarettes and a case of—" he eyed Stan up and down, "what do you drink?"

Stan clenched his jaw. Was Pete not listening? If Kevin told his sister about this, then he was fucked for life. Everyone was staring at him though. "Just… Bud Light is fine."

Pete scrunched up his nose. "Nasty. Whatever." He handed Kevin forty bucks. "Make it happen, McCormick."

Stan was confused. Kevin and Shelly were in the same grade at South Park High—in fact, Stan was _positive_ that Kevin had just turned sixteen about a month ago. "He gonna shoplift it?"

One of the boys Stan didn't recognize said, "We've all got fake ID's."

"With those shitty attempts at stubble, you don't even look eighteen, let alone twenty-one."

"We're friends with the cashier," the boy who hadn't spoken yet replied.

Stan frowned, doubtful, but let it slide. Instead he just stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned up against the side of the building. A moment later, Pete joined him. Stan eyed his friend, then asked, "What's with you being so cool lately?"

"Don't look too much into it, Raven."

That answer wasn't satisfactory at all, but Stan didn't think Pete would tell him anything else. "Fine, I'll get you a twenty when we get back to school." When the goth boy lofted a brow at him, Stan said, "For the beer."

Pete waved him off. "Don't bother. I don't need your money."

Stan stood up straighter. "Seriously Pete, what gives? You're being _weirdly_ nice lately, and it's freaking me out."

The goth boy scowled. "Fine, jesus, you fucking pussy. Pay me back then."

Annoyance grew heavy in the back of Stan's mind, but before he could retort, Kevin returned. The older boy passed the cigarettes and the beer on to Pete. "That everything?" Kevin asked.

Pete tucked the cigarettes away into his jacket and handed the beer off to Stan. "Yea." He then turned and began walking back toward the school, leaving Stan to catch up with him.

"Hey, wait up," Stan called. Pete paused to allow Stan to fall in line with him. "Dude, we can't go waltzing back onto campus with a pack of beer. The adults here might be stupid as hell, but they won't overlook this." He hefted up the six pack for emphasis.

Pete ignored him, instead leading Stan passed the school towards the trees that led to Stark's Pond. They settled up against a copse of trees, and Stan checked his phone as he cracked a beer. In about twenty minutes they'd have to be back to school. He'd have to finish off the beers pretty fast.

As Stan tipped back the Bud Light, Pete lit up a cigarette. They didn't talk at all at first. Stan quickly finished off the first and was halfway through the second, before he had enough liquid courage to speak up. "Hey Pete?"

"What?"

"Is it…" Stan hesitated, "nevermind."

"Spit it out, Raven."

Stan chugged the rest of his beer, then moved onto the third bottle. He took a couple sips of that as well, then asked, "How did you know you were gay?"

The goth boy tossed off the bud of his cigarette then—to Stan's surprise—reached for a beer. Pete took a sip, then made a face at the taste. "Ugh, I can't believe you can drink this shit."

"Whatever gets the job done," chuckled Stan.

Taking another sip, Pete replied, "If that works."

Stan waited for Pete to answer his question, but when the goth boy only continued to drink his beer and grimace, Stan sighed. "Sorry, not trying to pry, dude."

Pete shook his head. "It's not that." He lit up another cigarette. "How did I know I was gay? I'm not really sure when it happened, really. I always seemed to know." He snorted out a laugh, then added, "I knew for sure when I was at a goth hangout and this girl tried to kiss me. It was fucking nasty. Might've been 'cause she was bad at it, but I knew it wasn't for me."

"Have you kissed guys then? Is it different?"

"Yea."

Stan blinked at that. "Really?"

Pete smirked, "Don't be so surprised, Stan."

"Well… I mean, you're goth. I thought you weren't into affection and love and stuff."

"Ugh, don't make it sound so fucking gay."

Stan let out a laugh and made an exaggerated gesture, spilling a bit of his beer. "Dude, we're literally talking about kissing guys. That's about as gay as it gets."

"It's not about being affectionate," Pete said, rolling his eyes. "That's for conformists. It's about power and feeling good."

"Power?"

Pete nodded, "When another person lets you get close enough to by physical with them, they give you power over them."

Stan frowned, "I've never thought about kissing that way. I never felt like I had power over Wendy."

"You didn't. She had power over you. Face it Raven, you're not a very dominant person."

"You make me sound weak."

Pete shrugged. "If that's how you want to look at it."

A silence reigned between them for a few minutes as Stan moved onto his fourth beer. Pete was about halfway through his first. Finally, Stan asked, "Do you think I'm weak?"

Pete looked and him. "I think you can be a whiney pussy when you want to be."

Stan wilted a bit. "Gee, thanks," he muttered.

The goth boy breathed out a puff of smoke. "Gonna let my comment make you act like a whiney pussy?"

Frowning, Stan shoved Pete away and stood, albeit a bit unsteadily. "Shut up, Pete, you fucking dick."

Pete didn't seem bothered in the least by Stan's attitude. "Or what?"

"Or… or I'll fucking deck you, that's what!"

"Broflovski's the one with the temper. You're too much of a pussy to hit me," Pete replied matter-of-factly.

At the mention of his best friend, Stan's temper faded and a sinking feeling filled its place. He dropped his head, allowing his hair to fall into his eyes, and turned away. "We should probably head back to school. Lunch will be over soon."

Pete remained where he was. "Go on back then, Timberlake. I don't give a shit about going back to school."

The sinking feeling deepened. "See you around then, Pete," he muttered, then began the slow trek back to school."

* * *

 **Hope this chapter is well received. I finally figured out the direction I want this story to go. Once again, thank you to all who have favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. Every one of them means a lot to me.**


	8. The Truth Comes Out

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

Stan stumbled back into class a couple minutes after the bell had rung.

Garrison, hands on hips, asked, "Stan, is interrupting my class going to become a regular occurrence with you? Because if so, you can just go march right back out to the principal's office."

The raven-haired boy shook his head emphatically, "No Mr. Garrison."

"Well, then you better just go take your seat."

Stan did so. Within seconds of arriving in his seat, Kyle whispered, "Stan, where were you? I didn't see you all lunch."

In all fairness, Stan _tried_ to whisper back. But volume control was hard when you were twelve and had consumed four beers in the span of about twenty minutes. "Went to the woods," he replied, loud enough for the people around him to hear.

"Stan," Garrison snapped, "this is your last warning. Once more peep, and you'll have a detention."

"Sssssssorry dude," he slurred back.

Stan waited for Kyle to continue hounding him, only to be surprised when the redhead kept his gaze on the front of the room. Leaning over, Stan nudged his best friend and _very carefully_ whispered, "Kyyyyyyle. Don'tcha wanna know why I was in the woods?"

In an equally soft tone, Kyle murmured, "Dude, are you okay? You're acting weird."

"M'fiiiiine," Stan said, once more forgetting about keeping his voice low.

"That's it!" Garrison roared, "Stan, I'm giving you detention, and you can go right to the principal's office."

"But I don't wannna," Stan whined. "I wanna talk to Kyy _yyyyle_."

The class giggled, and Garrison's face went pink. "Well that's too bad Mr. Backtalk. Now get out of my class."

"No!" Stan said. "You can't make me. I'm going to… to sit right here. And I'm gonna… gonna talk with my best buddy." With that, he deliberately turned his entire desk away from Garrison until it was facing Kyle. Stan stared at his best friend imploringly.

Kyle's eyes were blown wide, flicking between Garrison and Stan, unsure of what to make of the situation. Something was definitely wrong with Stan. He was acting more like Cartman than Cartman, for Moses' sake!

He cast a nervous look at their teacher, who seemed to be seconds away from smacking Stan. Before Garrison _did_ decide to do anything drastic, Kyle said, "Stan… you really should go."

The look Stan gave him made Kyle feel like he was an absolute traitor. "But Ky," Stan whined.

"Hah, you see, you little bastard! Even your friends don't want you around," Garrison said.

"What? That's not true. I didn't say that," Kyle replied, despite his better judgement.

"Well since you're so eager to be with him, why don't you go ahead and join Stan in detention then, Kyle," Garrison said.

The class, predictably, let out a loud, "Oooooooh."

Flushing red, Kyle bit down on his lip to stop the angry, jersey-esque retort that threatened to come out. Instead, he grabbed Stan's hand and all but yanked him out of his desk. "C'mon dude," he muttered.

The teacher turned to look over the rest of the class. "Any of the rest of you going to be a problem today?"

The class was silent for a minute.

"Yea, if you're going to be yelling and blathering on all day, why don't you put that mouth to better use instead and suck my dick," came a heavily muffled voice form the back of the class.

There was a collective gasp from the students. Even Stan, in his inebriated state, was left to gawk at the speaker.

"KENNY McCORMICK, YOU LITTLE SHIT-STAIN. HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY IN MY OWN CLASS. GO TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE RIGHT NOW!" Garrison screamed.

Without much of a fuss, Kenny wandered over to his other two friends, who were looking at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Eric, you go to the principal's office too."

"EY! What the hell did I do?"

"Nothing yet, but if those three are acting up, then I'm sure you've got something to do with it."

With an angry grunt, Cartman left his seat and growled, "Man, this is bullcrap!"

The four of them left. Once they were outside, Kenny said, "Don't pretend like you're not thrilled to be out of class, fatass."

Cartman huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Even if he was pleased, he certainly wasn't going to let _them_ know that. "Whatevah."

"Stan, seriously, what is going on with you?" Kyle asked.

"I'm fine." His cobalt eyes glistened when he looked at his best friend. "Hey Kyle, we're already in trouble. Let's ditch and go do something."

The redhead made a strange squawking noise, one that Stan found strangely endearing. "What? No dude, my mom is already going to be pissed at me."

"Yea, cause she's a jersey jew bitch," said Cartman.

"My mom is not a bitch, you fat fuck!"

"Whatevah. Screw you guys, I'm going home."

"You're not going to the principal's office?" Kenny asked.

Snorting, Cartman said, "Why the hell would I? I didn't do anything wrong. Both Garrison and Principal Victoria can suck my dick. _I'm_ gonna go eat some cheesy poofs and watch Terrance and Phillip."

Unable to help himself, Kyle got in one last jab. "Trying to break your own record of having the world's fattest ass?"

"EY! Fuck you Kahl."

"Just ignore him," Kenny said, voice muffled. With a huff, Cartman stormed away from them. To Kyle, the poor boy said, "Go ahead and see Victoria. We'll catch up. I need to talk to Stan."

"Noooo," Stan whined. "I wanna be with Kyyy _yyyyle_."

Hesitating, Kyle added, "Don't you think we should all go? She'll be suspicious if we left class at the same time, but don't show up together."

"Then wait for us outside. Come on, Kyle. I need to talk to him."

Furrowing his brows, Kyle asked, "And is there a reason you're not involving me?" He sounded hurt.

Stan, not liking his best friend's tone, reached out to put an arm around Kyle's shoulders and hugged him close. "Noooo! We tell each… each other everything!" Glaring at Kenny, Stan said, "If you got somethin' to tell me, then you can tell Kyle too!"

Annoyance growing, Kenny said, "If you want to tell Kyle later, be my guest. But right now, I want to talk to _you_ Stan." His voice started to talk on a Mysterion edge toward the end, making Stan shrink a bit against Kyle.

With a sigh at their stubbornness, Kyle threw up his hands and said, "Fine, whatever. I'll wait for you guys at the principal's office. Just don't take too long."

Stan's fingers curled into Kyle's jacket. "Kyle, I want you to staaayyy," he whined.

"It's fine, Stan," Kyle said, his voice softening just a bit. He wasn't sure why his best friend was being so clingy all of the sudden. Especially when it felt like Stan had been avoiding him all through lunch. Kyle gently peeled Stan's fingers from his jacket. "We'll catch up later."

Stan made a very dissatisfied noise as Kyle began walking away, before he set his sights on Kenny. "Well…?"

Kenny narrowed his eyes, then looked around. There weren't any other students that he could see in the halls, but he didn't want to take any chances. Kenny grabbed Stan's arm and towed him over to the boy's bathroom. Once he was sure they were completely alone, he locked the door and turned to his friend. "You're drunk."

It took Stan a moment to register the words. Once he did, he blinked and waved a hand dismissively, "No I'm not."

"It wasn't a question Stan. Have you met my parents? I know what it looks like when someone is drunk."

Stan turned from his friend stubbornly and made as if to leave, "You're cr—*hic*—crazy Kenny."

The poor boy barked out a laugh and tugged down the hood of his parka. "Yea, like that was convincing." When Stan tried to turn the lock on the door, Kenny pulled his arm back. "Stan, _talk to me_ ," he commanded, the gravelly voice of Mysterion echoing against the walls of the bathroom.

"No, fuck you. I wanna see Kyle," Stan retorted angrily, trying and failing to pull his arm from Kenny's grip.

"Stan, stop being such a bitch, or maybe I _will_ go tell Kyle—and maybe your parents while I'm at it—that you've been drinking for nearly two years straight!"

Stan froze. "What?"

Seeing that Stan was no longer trying to leave, Kenny let go of his arm. "You heard me."

For a moment silence reigned as the two boys stared at each other. Kenny's gaze was challenging. Stan's was just shocked.

Finally, it was Stan who broke. "How…" he licked his lips nervously. "How long have you known?"

"A few months. But once I figured it out, it wasn't hard to put two and two together and notice a pattern."

Stan swallowed, "And what was that pattern?" He thought he'd been so careful. If Kenny knew, was it possible others did as well?

"That you've been acting like this ever since your parents nearly got divorced for a second time." Kenny sighed and raked his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. "We all knew you got drunk that one time, when you came crying to Kyle while we were busy with…" Kenny wrinkled his nose, "Cartman Burger. Ever since you've behaved a bit different. Not usually as explosive, though." He eyed Stan.

Sighing, Stan rubbed his palm over his eyes. "Usually, I try to keep it to just being buzzed," he mumbled. "Not drunk."

Kenny nodded at the confirmation.

After a moment, Stan looked up at his friend. "So… why haven't you told anyone else? If you knew for so long."

Kenny shrugged. "You don't tell people about how I still get high."

"But it's just pot now," Stan protested, "not cat piss or anything. It's not hurting you."

"And usually, you don't let alcohol get the better of you." When Stan still looked like he was going to protest, Kenny said, "Look, Stan, do you want me to tell other people?"

"No!" Stan exclaimed immediately.

"Alright, then why are you making a fuss?"

"I… don't know," he said. Stan slumped a bit and rubbed his eyes, "God, Kenny, it's just… maybe sometimes I do want people to know, so I could talk about it. Or so they'd make me stop." He let his eyes fall shut, adding, "I don't want to stop, though. Not really. I mean, I hate being dependent on it. I _hate_ being like my dad."

Kenny grunted. He knew the feeling.

"But," Stan continued, "it helps so much." Stan cracked an eye open to look at his friend, who pretended not to notice how glossy Stan's gaze was. "When I'm not at least buzzed, everything is just…" he let out a rough sob.

"Shit," Kenny supplied. He still remembered how Stan had been in the weeks between his tenth birthday and the day at Cartman Burger.

Stan just nodded.

Kenny walked over and wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders. "It's going to be okay, Stan," Kenny murmured, much like he did with his sister when their parents were fighting. Because no, it wasn't okay right now. But life moved on. His parents eventually stopped fighting for the day, and Stan would eventually figure this out. And whether he asked for it or not, Kenny would be there to support him.

Stan didn't cry. Sure, his eyes were a bit watery, but he stubbornly wiped his sleeve over his face. A few minutes of silence passed with Kenny holding him, before Stan looked up and gave Kenny a small smile. "Thanks."

Kenny clapped him on the back. "No problem, dude."

As they left the bathroom, Stan had to admit that the talk had definitely taken a huge weight off of Stan's shoulders. Kenny knew, and he wasn't going to rat him out. Instead, now Stan had someone he could actually talk to about it—someone who wouldn't just shrug him off or annoy him like the goths.

Just as he'd said, Kyle was waiting for them outside of Victoria's office. He looked at Stan immediately, but the questions died on his lips when Stan shook his head.

"Trust me dude, you really don't want to know."

Kyle frowned at the response, before eventually shrugging it off. "Well, you seem better, at least."

Stan nodded, "Kenny talked some sense into me. Sorry I was behaving like such an ass… again."

Kyle wanted to stay mad, but hearing Stan's genuine apology and seeing his guilty eyes, Kyle found him self smiling and said, "No big deal, dude."

"Alright lads, times to face the music," Kenny said, pulling the hood of his parka back up before pushing the door to the principal's office open.

* * *

 **I am very grateful for everyone who has read the story thus far. If you're enjoying it, please think about leaving a review for me. It really does make my day when I get a notification saying someone liked what I write enough to comment on it.**


	9. Finding Help in Unexpected Places

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

Victoria didn't seem the least bit surprised to see them.

"Well boys, here we are again." She peered at them, then looked up at the door, "I assume Eric is coming along too? The four of you usually end up in here together."

"He went home," Kyle replied.

Victoria's brows rose above her glasses. "Did he now? And who gave him permission to do that?"

They looked at each other, before Stan said, "Well… no one. But," he paused. He knew he'd regret this. Still, he continued, "Cartman really didn't do anything wrong… for once. Garrison just told him to come here with us because he thought Cartman would be involved."

"And was he?"

"There really isn't anything to be involved in," Stan replied. He closed his eyes, "I… was acting out in class again. Kyle and Kenny just got caught up in the crossfire."

"That's not true!" Kyle said. Victoria turned to him, and he added, "I mean… it's kind of true. Stan and I were talking in class because Garrison—"

"Mr. Garrison," she interrupted.

"—right… because _Mr._ Garrison was talking about irrelevant nonsense, like he usually does. He caught Stan, and… yea, okay, maybe Stan was a bit of a smartass." He shot Stan an apologetic look, but he just shrugged. "But it wasn't _just_ Stan's fault. It was mine too."

"And what about you, Mr. McCormick?"

"I told the teacher to suck my dick," he replied smoothly, causing Stan and Kyle to smirk at his nonchalant tone.

She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Honestly, I don't know why you boys insist on being such a disruption in class. Though I will say, I am surprised to see you in here Kyle. Lately, you've been much of a model student.

"As for you, Stan," she said, glancing at him. "This is the second time in just three days that I've had you in here. Now I don't know what is making you feel the need to disrespect your teacher, but this behavior cannot be tolerated."

Despite himself, Stan muttered, "It's not like he's ever done anything to earn my respect."

"Be that as it may," she said, not even trying to defend Garrison to them, "he is still your teacher. I can't have you boys," she looked at Kenny, "constantly interrupting class. It isn't fair to the other students."

"We won't," Kyle said immediately. Now, his goal was damage control. He just needed to make sure his mother didn't find out. "We'll behave, right?" he looked to his friends for support.

Kenny nodded unenthusiastically. "Sure."

Stan was silent.

"Stan?" Kyle asked.

The raven-haired boy looked to his friend, then back to his teacher. His heart suddenly sounded very loud in his ears.

 _The rut. It's going to consume you. You'll live in the rut until you die in the rut._

"I…" he looked back at Kyle. "I… can't. I can't keep doing this."

Kyle looked confused. Stan couldn't read Kenny's face, being as it was hidden beneath the parka. Principal Victoria's expression mimicked Kyles. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'm going to die like this," Stan whispered. Suddenly, he was helpless to stop the tears that flowed down his face. Everyone seemed to perk up in alarm at this.

"Kenny, Kyle, the two of you may return to your class."

"But—"

"We can't just leave him like—"

" _Now_ boys," she said, her voice firm. They hesitantly obeyed, both of them keeping their eyes on Stan.

Once the other two kids had left, Victoria stood and walked around her desk until she was standing in front of Stan. She carefully set a hand on his shoulder. "Stan, what's wrong?"

He tried to wipe away his tears, but new ones just continued to fall to replace the old.

When he didn't respond, she clicked her tongue. "I'll go get Mackey."

"No!" Stan said, reaching out and grabbing her sleeve. "No, I'm… I'm fine. I don't want to talk to him. He's just as much of an idiot as Garrison."

She sighed, "Clearly, something is wrong. Now, if you won't talk to me I'll have to get Mackey."

Stan was silent for a moment longer. "I'm just…" he let out a shaky breath. "The rut."

The woman pulled one of the chairs over to she could sit down in front of him. "The rut?" she repeated, confused.

"It's… it's this thing. It happens to everyone in this fuc—in this town. They're born here, they go through the shitty school system here, and then they work a shitty job here, and then they die a shitty death here. Only a few people manage to escape it." He looked down at his hands, "I know I won't be one of them."

Victoria frowned. This was a bit more than she'd been prepared to deal with. After all, how often did twelve-year-olds have existential crises? "Why won't you be one of them?"

"Because I'm not Kyle," he replied, angry. "I'm not Kyle or Token or Wendy or Jimmy. My grades are average at best, and I don't have extremely well-to-do parents that can help me move forward. I'm not talented enough in anything to get me out of this town, like Jimmy. I'll have to go to SPCC once I get out of high school… and that's if I can even go to college! Most kids in this fucking town don't even get that far. They just get some shitty job right out of school and work until the day they die."

She frowned, "Well if you're so worried about all of this, then why don't you try to change it?"

He shook his head, "It's too late for me."

To Stan's surprise, she laughed. "Stan Marsh, you make it sound like you're sixty and have been working a boring office job for the last forty years of your life. You're _twelve_. I know that all of you kids are probably a lot more mature—in some ways, at least—than most other kids your age, due to what goes on in this town. But you're still just a twelve-year-old kid. Maybe instead of moping about how you _think_ your life is going to turn out, spend some time studying. Get your grades up, join an afterschool activity. Maybe even pick up an instrument or pursue something you enjoy. Try finding a hobby that you can turn into a talent that could lead to some exciting things outside of South Park."

Stan looked up at her, and she smiled. "What I'm saying is, maybe spend a bit less time thinking about how shitty everything _is_ and spend a little more time trying to _make_ everything less shitty."

Rubbing his sleeve over his eyes to wipe the rest of his tears away, Stan found himself smiling as well. He'd never really thought of the Principal as someone who might _actually_ have some sound advice. But then again, he never gave her much thought except when she was reprimanding him and his friends. After a moment, he said, "I thought teachers weren't supposed to swear in front of students."

She laughed at that, "Well, if you say anything to anyone, I'll deny all of it." Her mood sobered a bit, and she added, "I will still have to call your mother about what happened today, Stan, and tell her what we talked about."

He just shrugged. "Go ahead. She already knows how I feel. I told her the other day."

Victoria nodded. "Very well. Undoubtedly, Kenny and Kyle ignored what I said and are waiting for you outside the door. Go on out to them." She checked her watch, which made Stan blink. Really? Who wore watches anymore?

"School is already nearly over, the three of you can just go ahead and head on out."

"Garrison gave us all detention after school."

She shook her head. "While I admire your honesty, I'll let you boys off the hook. I need to have a talk with your teacher about what he is teaching in that classroom anyways. No go on before I change my mind."

She didn't need to tell Stan twice.

Once he was out the door, Stan found himself ambushed.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"What happened in there?"

Leaning back from his friends, who weren't allowing him much space, he said, "Relax. It's alright, I'm fine."

"Dude, you were crying. What is going on?" Kyle asked, worry etched into every line of his face. "You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?"

Stan glanced at Kenny, silently watching. After a moment, he reached out and squeezed Kyle's shoulder, "I know, dude. But trust me, I'm all good. After all," his smiled turned devilish, "I just got us out of detention, _and_ we don't have to go back to class. Victoria's letting us leave."

Kyle blinked, "Wait, you… were faking?"

"Duh," Stan replied, "I mean, come on dude. Do you really think I'm gonna break down into hysterics for real?" Stan rolled his eyes at that, managing to catch Kenny's gaze in doing so. Even from beneath his parka, the blonde seemed skeptical on the matter. Before either of them could respond, Stan grabbed Kyle's hand and tugged him through the halls. "Let's just get out of here before Victoria figures it out."

Kyle smiled at that, "Yea… I guess that doesn't really sound like you."

They made it out of the school, and Kyle said, "Hey, since we're out early, let's go play some basketball before you have to go meet your friend."

Ah shit, he'd forgotten about that. Seeing Kyle's earnest expression, Stan sighed. "Sure dude, sounds good. You wanna come play, Kenny?"

"Nah, I've got a date with Mary Jane," Kenny said, eyes glinting.

Kyle frowned, "Mary Jane? Who's that?"

Stan snorted. "No one you'd want to know, Kyle."

"Right. She is to me what Stan's friend Jameson is to him," Kenny replied.

"Jameson?" Kyle turned to Stan. The redhead felt like he was missing part of the conversation, and he _hated_ feeling let out of the loop.

Shooting Kenny a dark glower, Stan looked up at his best friend and replied, "Never mind him, Kyle. Kenny's just being a dick."

Barking out a laugh, Kenny waved him off, "Yea Kyle, _I'm_ being a dick. I'll see you guys later." Sticking his hands in his pockets, the boy in the orange parka strolled away.

Kyle looked up at his friend imploringly, "Stan?"

"What?" snapped Stan, a bit more harshly than he'd meant to due to his annoyance at Kenny.

Rather than backing down at the tone, Kyle straightened to his full height and glared down at his best friend, "Dude, you didn't have to drive Kenny off. Now what's with you lately? I feel like you're keeping something from me."

Anger growing, he said, "You're reading too much into things like you usually do, Kyle. And I didn't 'drive Kenny off'! It's not my fault if he can't handle it when he's called out."

"Something is definitely wrong with you," Kyle said, stomping his foot. "Because you _are_ behaving like a royal ass lately, Stan Marsh. I just can't figure out why you won't talk to me. We're _super best friends_. We tell each other everything!"

"I do tell you everything!" Stan lied. Shaking his head, he said, "Just drop it Kyle. I thought you wanted to play some basketball?"

"I do, but not if you're going to lie to my face." Kyle crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Look, I don't know what's wrong, but I can't help you if you won't talk to me." His expression softened, and he set a hand against Stan's shoulder. "Please, Stan?"

Stan looked up into Kyle's inviting green eyes. The jewish boy always had this affect on him, where he'd just want to spill all of his troubles and worries onto his best friend. But he couldn't. Couldn't Kyle just understand that?

Trying to give Kyle the best placating smile he could, Stan said, "It's really nothing, Kyle. Come on, I don't want to waste this extra time outside of class. Let's just head over to the park, huh?"

Kyle sighed and dropped his arm. "I don't really think I could get into it right now, Stan. Look, when you're ready to tell me the truth hit me up. Until then, I've got some homework to work on."

"But… we left class before Garrison assigned us any homework."

Giving Stan a flat look, the redhead replied, "Yea, I know. Sucks being lied to, doesn't it?" He turned and began walking off in the direction of his house.

Stan stared after him for a moment. A lump formed in his throat, and his eyes felt misty. "God damnit Marsh," he muttered. "Even when you're buzzed, you still manage to push him away."

Obviously, something needed to change. Stan couldn't keep dealing with this on his own anymore. He needed to talk to someone he trusted that might be able to help him. So far, he'd talked to his mom, Kenny, Pete, and even his principal. They'd offered him… something, but none of it really _helped_.

Stan chewed on his lip a moment. He wished Chef was here. No one in this fucking town really knew how to help him with his problems like Chef could… well, _almost_ no one.

* * *

 **So, a couple things. The first, being that I recently realized that this story has consisted of a** _ **lot**_ **of heart-to-heart talks between Stan and someone else. This chapter not being much of an exception. I also doubt that this is going to change much, as I've come to the realization that building a support network for Stan is probably a good thing at this point in the story, before shit really hits the fan. Hopefully people don't mind this sort of storytelling. Either way, I suppose I enjoy it.**

 **Second, a bit of an announcement. I've decided that I am going to have a bit of a contest/celebration of sorts once I reach Chapter 10. Thus, if you enjoy my writing or this story, you might consider leaving a review or a follow so you don't miss the announcement.**

 **And finally, do you have any idea who Stan is talking about at the end there? Haven't given many hints up to this point, but if you manage to guess, then kudos and brownie points!**


	10. Cats, Cocoa, and Conversations

**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park; it is the property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

* * *

Stan stared up at the door, surrounded by bright red brick. It had been a while since he'd seen his friend, and a bit of guilt ate at him for procrastinating a visit so much.

Sucking on his teeth, Stan hesitantly knocked on the door.

A voice immediately called, "One moment sweetie, I'll be right there!" Before he could think to back out, the door opened revealing one of South Park's very few openly gay residents. Big Gay Al looked down at Stan, and a smile lit up his whole face. "Stanley, it's so good to see you," he sang, leaning over to hug the boy.

Stan was surprised to find himself returning the gesture. "Hey Big Gay Al, it's been a while, huh?"

The older man tittered, "No kidding. Why don't you come on in, hun." He stepped back and held the door open for Stan. The boy peered around the house curiously. He hadn't visited since the after-party Al and Mr. Slave had thrown once they got married. He wasn't surprised to see that it was updated with all of the latest fashions and furniture.

"I'm guessing you've been watching the new season of Queer Eye?" he asked, recalling how he'd heard the show had _somehow_ managed to gain a second season, despite the now very public knowledge that the hosts were all crab people in disguise.

"Guilty," he said. "Only when Slave isn't home though. He doesn't like the show very much. Brings up memories of his old flame."

Stan nodded. A sleek black feline approached him, purring and rubbing against his leg. Stan grinned and picked him up, scratching the cat beneath his chin and cooing, "Hey Bono, it's been a while, huh? You're getting really big!"

"Well, it has been three years since you last saw him. Not quite that scrappy little kitten you brought to me anymore, is he?" Al said with a chuckle.

Heat touched Stan's cheeks at being called out, and he looked up at his friend. "About that… I'm really sorry for not coming by more often, Big Gay Al."

He smiled and patted Stan's shoulder. "You're here now, and that's what matters. Can I ask what made you come by today?"

"I…" Stan looked down at the cat in his arms. He still wasn't quite sure how to go about asking for advice on the matter. Did he trust Al enough to tell him his secret? Well… yea, but would Al keep it a secret? Stan wasn't so sure.

Seeing Stan's troubled expression, Big Gay Al piped up, "Here now, why don't you take Bono over to the couch and sit down, and I'll start us both some cocoa. How does that sound?"

Stan smiled softly, "That sounds super."

Al winked at him and skipped over to the kitchen, "Brb!"

With Bono still settled in his arms, Stan stepped over to the brown leather couch and eased himself onto the cushion. Almost immediately two more cats—Blossom and Loki—mewed and wandered over to him. Stan laughed as Blossom curled up on his lap, and Loki hopped up on the couch behind him, batting at the poof ball on his hat. Even after the rough time he'd been having lately, being with animals—gay or otherwise—always made Stan happy.

Loki began to attack his hat more vigorously. "Hey buddy, careful. This is my favorite hat," the boy said, unable to help the laughed in his voice.

"Here comes cocoa!" Al sang, carrying two mugs into the room. Spying Stan's predicament, he chuckled. "Loki, dearest, I think that's enough." The gray feline perked at that, leaving Stan to go curl up next to Al once he settled on the couch.

Stan took the mug gratefully, careful to avoid dislodging the cat in his lap and the cat in his arms. "Thanks." He sipped at it, then hummed pleasantly at the chocolatey taste.

"I always find that a nice warm mug of hot chocolate helps to soothe my nerves. That or a bit of alone time with the hubby. Oop, I'm so bad," he teased, and Stan felt his guard begin to fall. It was hard to remain tense when surrounded by cats and in the company of probably the most harmless man on the planet.

"So, how have you been, Big Gay Al?"

"I've been just super, thanks for asking. Saving one little gay animal at a time, spending time with my wonderful little Slavey-pie, and decorating the house in my spare time."

Stan grinned, "So you still have the sanctuary going then? I wasn't sure."

Big Gay Al nodded enthusiastically, "Oh yes. Fortunately, I don't have quite as many animals under my care, since people have become so much more progressive lately. It really is just so heartwarming." He crossed a leg over his knee and turned a bit more towards Stan. "How about you, sweetie, how have you been?"

The boy looked down into his drink, unable to meet his friend's gaze. "That's… that's kinda why I came over today, actually. Things have been really hard lately, and I'm… I need some advice."

Al settled his mug on the coffee table and gave Stan his undivided attention. "Well, I promise I'll do my very best to give you good advice," he said sincerely.

Stan smiled. "I know, that's why I came to you." He set his mug down after taking one more sip, than let out a slow breath. His hands shook in Bono's fur as he held the cat. "I…" he gulped. "I'm not really sure how to start."

"Start wherever you want, Stanley, I'm not going to judge."

"Okay, I… okay…" God, why was this so _hard_? He should have planned what he wanted to say beforehand. Stan was silent for a few minutes as he worked up his courage, kneading his fingers through Bono's fur. If he could just have a drink—a _real_ drink—to settle his nerves.

To his credit, Al waited patiently the entire time, never once trying to prod Stan into speaking up. It wasn't until Stan looked up at him, silently pleading for a bit of help, that Al asked, "How can I help you feel more comfortable to talk, hun?"

"If… if I ask you something, before I tell you what it is, can I have your word you won't tell _anyone_ else? Not my parents, or the school, or… or even Mr. Slave?"

Big Gay Al was silent for a minute, mulling over the request. "I… don't know honey, are you going to tell me something that puts other people in danger?"

Stan shook his head.

"Are you going to tell me something that puts _yourself_ in danger?"

Stan hesitated, then shrugged.

The older man frowned. "Stan, if you're doing something dangerous, don't you think your parents should know?"

"It's not, ah, dangerous _persay_. I mean, I have it mostly under control, I just…" He spared a quick glance toward Al's concerned expression, then she shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to put that strain on you."

Now Al was very worried. "Stan, you can tell me, and I promise I will wait until you've explained yourself before deciding to do anything. But if it still seems too dangerous, I won't promise that I'll keep it to myself."

Stan was torn. He knew Al was right, and there still _was_ that part of him that wanted others to know about his drinking problem, even if it was a small part. But the thought of his parents—of his _mother_ finding out… And Kyle. What would Kyle even think of him, knowing he was an alcoholic? He clenched his jaw as he thought, unsure if he should confide in Big Gay Al. Finally, he said, "Okay. Okay, I'll tell you. But you have to promise me that you will listen to everything I have to say first, before you make any judgements. Then, if you _still_ think that I need help, you will try to help me _by yourself_ first, before telling anyone else. You have to swear on… on your marriage that you will only tell other people as a last resort."

Big Gay Al thought over Stan's words. He was pretty sure he could do all of that. If Stan did need help, Al would do his best to help him anyways, so he didn't think Stan was asking for anything unreasonable. "Alright Stanley, I promise."

Once he began to talk, the words just flowed out of him, and he found himself unable to stop them. During his entire speech, Stan stared down at Bono, terrified of what he might see if he looked at Al. "Okay, so… two years ago, I was diagnosed with Asperger's. You probably remember 'cause the whole town went crazy over it, and the news… well, anyways. These guys forced me to drink alcohol, and it made all of the shit and sadness I was feeling go away. And I got really, really, _really_ drunk, because it felt so good, and I hadn't felt good in a long time, you know? 'Cause at the time my parents were planning to get divorced, and my friends abandoned me and my—" a lump formed in his throat, but he choked it back, "—my best friend told me that he didn't want me around anymore. And I just… it felt like I was suffocating, and numb, and the entire world around me was shit. I stopped eating hardly anything, because it all looked and tasted like crap. My asthma got so much worse, to the point where I was kicked from the football team. I lost a lot of weight… my mom was so worried, I think that was partially the reason she got back with my dad."

Tears were streaming down Stan's face, and he tried to focus intensely on Blossom's purring against his knees so he wouldn't start sobbing openly. "I started sleeping all the time, because I stopped dreaming and it was the only way I could get away from the constant shit. I stopped being able to hear people, it was just shit. And then… and then _they_ made me drink, and I was happy? I saw Kyle again, and he was just Kyle! He was my best friend in the whole wide world. I just—" he paused and buried his face against Bono's fur, sucking in rough breaths. When he spoke, his voice came out muffled, "For two months every time I looked at Kyle, or anyone else, it was shit. It just felt so good to see him again. And then… then he told me he didn't have time for me. And the universe dropped out from under me. I was replaced."

Stan lost it for a few minutes, weeping hysterically against the cat in his arms. Bono just licked his hand in response, and Blossom purred like a motorboat against his lap. When he had somehow gained some semblance of control, Stan continued, "It hurt so much when I was replaced. I'd been dealing with nothing but shit, alone, for _months_ , and when I finally managed to break through, Kyle didn't want me anymore. He'd rather be with Cartman of all people." He fell silent, breathing slowly through Bono's fur smushed against his face. "I tried to pretend like everything was okay. I did, Al. I wanted to move on, because I wanted to get away from everything… then mom came up and decided to stay with my dad, even though I know they still can't stand each other the majority of the time. Or… it's like my mom just resigned herself. Like she doesn't think she deserves to find happiness or have her own life without my dad, because it's what she's known for… for years."

He closed his eyes and leaned back, settling his head against the back of the couch. "Anyway, things went back to… whatever normal is, and everyone forgot I had this thing. But it was still there. And I know addiction runs in my family. My grandpa was addicted to gambling, my dad's an alcoholic idiot, and I… well, I've already experienced addiction with a few different games. I didn't want to be another. So I dealt with it. I didn't drink, and the world was shit, and I put on a fake face… but I still couldn't eat, Al. I would just give this plate of what looked and smelled like shit to Sparky under the table when no one was looking. I just couldn't stomach it. And cause I wasn't eating, I got sick a lot, so I'd miss school. I faked it until I couldn't, and I started hating everything. Then I began to think that if the world was just going to be shit for the rest of my life, why the fuck would I want to live in it?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath from beside him, and Stan opened his eyes to stare blankly up at the ceiling. "Don't worry. I didn't. I mean, I thought about it… but I didn't want to do that to my mom. She was… during the entire time, she was the only person who was never shit." Stan sniffed. "So I stole my dad's beer. And for the first time in… I don't know how long, but things were better. I felt brighter. I could actually eat again. I smiled." It was such a small thing, but remembering the first time Stan had smiled after he got buzzed… it made his heart ache.

"I'm pretty careful about it, now. I only drink enough to get buzzed, most of the time. Sometimes I'll drink too much, and then regret it later. But the world isn't shit, and I can actually spend time with people and enjoy them. I'm not a cynical asshole once I've had a couple drinks, and…"

Stan sat up, then forced himself to look at his friend. Big Gay Al had tear streaks down his face, and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to just scoop Stan up and hug him tightly. "Anyways, now I'm an alcoholic at twelve years old. Yet I still manage it better than my fucking dad, who gets shit-faced drunk every chance he gets. And the alcohol helps me cope with my depression and makes it so I can actually function and be happy." He forced out a barking laugh. "And you know what? This isn't even what I was planning to talk to you about when I came over here. God, I'm such a fuck-up."

It was then that Stan did feel Al's arms wrap about him and pull him into a hug. He was surprised when something wet hit his cheek, and he looked up to see that Al was crying. "Oh honey. Oh you poor, sweet, wonderful boy." It felt a bit awkward at first, until Stan realized that it was actually sort of… nice, to be held. "I'm so sorry you have to deal with that, sweetie. And I cannot tell you how completely grateful I am that you felt safe and comfortable enough to tell me."

Silence, then, "Are you going to tell my parents?"

All pulled back from him and settled his hands against Stan's shoulders. "I promised you that I would leave that as a last resort, and I don't break my promises."

"Are you… disappointed in me?" Stan asked, his voice wavering a little.

Big Gay Al gave a watery chuckle. "Stanley, you were the first person in this town to accept me and be my friend. I don't really think you could disappoint me even if you tried."

"So, what do you think about all of this?"

"I think that it breaks my heart you've had to go through all of this alone, and that I want you to know I'm here to help and support you."

"What about… me being an alcoholic? Are you okay with that?" Stan asked.

Big Gay Al sighed. "Of course I can't be, Stanley, honey. You're so young, and I hate the thought of you being so dependent on something like alcohol, which could kill you if you aren't careful. However, I also couldn't even think of asking you to quit cold turkey, knowing what you were going through before you began drinking."

Stan blinked, mulling this over. "So… what do you think I should do, then?"

"Have you tried taking antidepressants?"

"I brought it up with my dad once. He said he didn't like the thought of drugging me up, and that only… only fags took meds for their emotions, instead of dealing with them like a real man."

"And your mother?"

Stan stared down at his lap. "I asked her about it, and she tried to talk about it with my dad. They ended up fighting for two weeks, before she finally gave in and said that it's probably better not to medicate kids anyways."

For the first time ever, Stan thought that Al actually looked annoyed. "I'm sure she means well, but that is just so super irresponsible."

The boy shrugged. "It is what it is."

Al huffed, clearly not satisfied with that answer. Before he could offer another suggestion though, Stan said, "Actually, there were a few other things that I really wanted to talk to you about. Could I maybe ask you about those first, before we get into this?"

Though Big Gay Al would have preferred to continue on the topic, he conceded. "Very well. What's on your mind, Stanley?"

* * *

 **Mmm, sorry for the long wait between updates. Life got a bit hectic between now and the last.**

 **This chapter was not intended to go this way originally. Next chapter is probably going to be a lot closer to what I was shooting for, but I just started writing this and couldn't stop. Plus, I really think that Big Gay Al is one of the very few genuinely positive role models in South Park, without a lot of extra baggage, and I wanted him to be the one Stan opens up to.**

 **Anyways, last chapter I mentioned a special celebration was in order for reaching my tenth chapter, and I'm still game, so here it is:**

 **I have decided that I will be holding a bit of a reward for my readers of this story. To enter the "contest" simply leave a review with your thoughts on one of my chapters, and that's it! You don't even have to follow or favorite, though both are certainly appreciated.**

 **It just makes my day when I see reviews, so I figure this is a good way to get some and still hopefully have them be genuine.**

 **Anyways, I will be taking all of the names of reviewers and entering them _once_ into a random generator. I'll then generate two people at random, so everyone has a fair shot, and those will be the winners.**

 **Once two have been picked, I will message each winner privately (so please review from an account, not anon), letting them know.**

 **Winners will receive the prize of a one-shot story, written by me. They will be allowed to select up to _two_ characters (preferably from South Park, though I am open to other fandoms if I'm familiar with them) as well as send me a one to two sentence prompt (if they so desire), and I will write them a story, which will include their username as a credit.**

 **So once more, in case it was unclear, the rules:**

 **1) Leave a review on this story.**

 **2) It must be from an account, not anon.**

 **And that's it! Deadline will be when Chapter 11 is posted. Best of luck to all, and if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading my work and sticking with me.**


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